


Amused, Impressed, and Smitten

by stagaawolf



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Harry Potter Setting, Alternate Universe - Hogwarts, Arya as Tonks, DID SOMEONE SAY WOLF PATRONUSES BECAUSE PLEASE, F/M, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Gendry as Lupin, Gendrya - Freeform, Hogwarts AU, Light Angst, Mutual Pining, Slow Burn, arya falling in love with this lonely melancholy werewolf, choosing each other against all odds, gendrya hp au, super smitten gendry, the remadora au no one asked for lol
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-18
Updated: 2019-10-26
Packaged: 2020-09-06 18:02:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 38,936
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20295691
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stagaawolf/pseuds/stagaawolf
Summary: A remadora!gendrya au retelling with Gendry as Lupin and Arya as Tonks.A werewolf Gendry, conditioned by years of stigma and prejudice, considered himself unworthy of love. That is, until he meets the clever, brave and funny, pink-haired young Auror named Arya Stark.Over the course of their Brotherhood without Banners missions against the dark wizard known as the Night King, Gendry and Arya find themselves falling in love against all odds.





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I couldn't help it. The gorgeous gifsets and edits of Arya as Tonks and Gendry as Lupin had me by the throat. It's just too beautiful not to write about. So a few cry seshes and a bunch of under-thinking later, here we are! A multi-chap gendrya remadora au!
> 
> Gendry and Arya as Lupin and Tonks… that’s like the best thing our gendrya fandom has ever created. Seriously.
> 
> I've got the full story all planned out so it's just a matter of writing it all out but hoping to update as frequently as I can.
> 
> Hope you all enjoy this little re-write of our faves xx

Arya was the most fascinating human Gendry has ever seen. There weren’t many to qualify for that position given that he’s part-wolf and part-human and that he’s spent most of his time away from the social niceties offered within the vast wizarding world of Westeros.

Having lived a hand-to-mouth existence ever since the overthrow of the Lannisters from the Ministry of Magic and the relative peace that followed, Gendry hadn’t known many interesting witches or wizards within the realm of his itinerant lifestyle he could really boast about. He had taken jobs that were far below his level of ability – broomstick repairer, wand polisher, archivist, and saleswizard to name a few – knowing that he would have to leave them before his pattern of growing sick once a month at the full moon was noticed by his workmates. So, that included jobs with people that are often as miserable and dreary as he was far from being amusing.

The only ever interesting course in Gendry’s life was when Eddard Stark, the Headmaster of the Winterfell School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, had tracked him down to a tumbledown, semi-derelict cottage in Fleabottom and had offered him the post of Defence Against the Dark Arts at the school. Delighted, Gendry accepted on one condition: a limitless supply of Wolfsbane Potion.

Sure, he met a wild array of fascinating students and creatures during his tenure, but the unfortunate combination of circumstances that resulted in his undergoing a true werewolf’s transformation in the grounds of the school had led him to resign his post and return to his lonely lifestyle.

When the dark wizard known as the Night King gained ascendancy years later, the old resistance that fought him during the days of The First Men many hundreds of years ago regrouped and Gendry found himself part of what is known as The Brotherhood without Banners, the secret society founded by Rickard Stark and now led by Eddard Stark to oppose The Night King and his followers of White Walkers.

Eddard convinced Gendry to join as a way to honour his old friend Robb Stark, Eddard’s eldest son. Gendry and Robb alongside Jon Snow and Theon Greyjoy was an inseparable foursome during their days in Winterfell until the Lannisters’ campaign to take over the Ministry of Magic and persecute Muggle-borns came to pass and a war broke out within the realm.

The death of Robb, along with his wife Talisa, at the hands of the pureblood Freys under Lannister command, was one of the most traumatic events of Gendry’s already troubled life. This was only made worse when Theon was accused of murder and Jon Snow was wrongly accused of treason, with the former in hiding and the latter incarcerated in The Wall.

With the Lannisters returning in support of The Night King and old and new enemies resurfacing, Gendry found himself in the midst of the Brotherhood and face-to-face with the young Auror he could not stop staring at.

“You look like you’ve seen better days,” she said by way of greeting. She openly gawked at the scars cutting across his face, her wide grey eyes warm and kindly in their curiosity. Unsure what to say, Gendry simply blushed at the attention.

“Don’t be a bitch to your new allies, Stark.” Sandor Clegane, most known as The Hound, was one of the toughest and most grizzled Aurors of the Brotherhood. Gendry had rarely spoken to the man given his foul look and moods and was afraid of what the young woman would think for such brashness.

“I wasn’t being a bitch,” she responded with a glare. “I was just saying. Besides, it looks really cool. Suits him.” She turned to face Gendry and gave him a wide smile. “I’m Arya, by the way. Arya Stark.”

“Gendry,” he responded rather timidly. “Gendry Waters.”

“Waters, huh? You’re half-Muggle, aren’t you?”

He gave her a tentative nod, unsure what she would say about that but she just grinned. 

“Sometimes I wish I was half-Muggle,” she said, “just so I can prove to those Lannister shits just how much shittier purebloods like them are.”

Gendry couldn’t help but chuckle at her boldness just as Clegane bumped her shoulders as he headed towards the living area where the rest of the members of the Brotherhood were at.

“So as a pureblood you’re saying you’re shittier than the rest of us?”

“Just as shitty as you, Clegane,” she said. Gendry tried to bite his lip from openly laughing. No one’s ever tried to joke around with the giant, frightening Auror since he first joined almost six months ago but here was a tiny, pink-haired witch ready to take him on at the flick of a wand.

Clegane made his way to the front of the room where the other prominent members of the Brotherhood were standing while Gendry stood at the corner a little way from the rest. As much as he wanted to pay attention to the routine updates from their leaders, he couldn’t help but notice Arya who was perched on the arm of a faded green couch next to Meera Reed, a celebrated herbologist from the Crannoglands who taught the subject at Winterfell.

Arya had the audacity to look bored and disinterested as Beric Dondarrion droned on and on about the noble sacrifice each of them would make in this great war to come. Gendry tried as much to focus but he couldn’t keep himself from watching her little movements on the couch; yawning, stretching and fiddling with the ends of her pink hair.

When Beric finished his speech and the room quieted down from the loud cheers, Eddard Stark motioned his daughter to come forward. She bounced up out of the couch and stood beside her father. When Gendry caught her eyes, she winked at him and he swore he’s never blushed so furiously before.

“Arya is an Auror and is one of the best at what she does,” Eddard said with a prideful smile. “She underwent three years of training under the tutelage of Sandor and two years with Syrio Forel.”

A murmur of appreciation passed through the crowd and Gendry couldn’t help but be impressed himself. Clegane was considered to be one of the most famous Aurors of their time. He was a skilful battler against the Dark Arts and Syrio Forel was one of the most famous duellists of his generation.

“But more than that,” Eddard continued, “my daughter is willing to use her gifts to assist us in defeating the Night King and his army.” Eddard exchanged glances with his daughter and with a nod, she slowly transformed in front of their eyes.

Gendry was mesmerised as her lithe, petite figure began to broaden in girth and she started to grow a few feet higher, matching her father’s height. Her bubble gum-pink hair turned golden brown and her face morphed into that of Eddard’s, complete with the solemn eyes and the knitted brows. By the end of the transformation, it was as if Arya had taken a Polyjuice potion as there, standing before them, were two completely identical Eddard Starks.

The real Eddard smiled at the gawking faces of the people who beheld his daughter’s transformation. “There is no doubt that Arya will be a great asset to our cause.” And Gendry, first amused, but now seriously impressed, could not agree more.

~

12 Winter Place was the location of the headquarters of the Brotherhood. The invisible house - thanks to a certain Fidelius charm - was tucked away in a little village in Pinkmaiden at the Riverlands. Since joining the Brotherhood, Gendry had been in and out of the charming little house. He was its unofficial caretaker, having resided there longer than most of the other members, mostly because they all had other jobs and homes outside of the Brotherhood. But Gendry was beyond thankful for his warm, cozy room at the uppermost floor of the house rather than that poor, semi-derelict cottage he once called home in Fleabottom.

“You know, you never actually told me what happened to you.” Arya was leaning against the open door of the kitchens where Gendry was helping the house elf prepare for supper. Arya was such a queer sight with her bright, curly pink hair flowing just past her shoulders and her green denim jacket. It’s probably too flamboyant for most witches who are part of a secret society, but Gendry couldn’t deny that it really suited her.

“What did I not tell you?” Arya gestured to the cuts across his face.

“Are you an Auror too?”

Gendry shook his head, feeling sheepish at the sudden questioning.

“Did you get it from one of your missions? Tell me what they’re like! I don’t know what father has planned for me to do exactly but I’m hoping he’d send me to do something more exciting than guarding Bran at the Department of Mysteries. Have you done a shift? It’s utterly boring.” She sat at the far end of the bench closest to where Gendry stood as he folded some napkins.

“Can’t say I have,” he replied, feeling too embarrassed to look at her directly. “But most of the missions are a little boring. I do plenty of watching and waiting and following. Pure bloods mostly. Keeping track of their whereabouts and keeping a note on any suspicious activities.”

Arya’s eyes lit up at this and she leaned forward and tilted her head on the table so she could meet his eyes, trained on the napkins he was desperately trying to fold without trembling. He didn’t know what it was about Arya Stark’s gaze, but he couldn’t help but feel unnerved whenever she bore into him like he’s under a magnifying glass of sorts.

“Have you caught anyone?”

“Not really,” he replied, trying his best to ignore her head that was so close to touching his hand. “I just report back on them if I do.”

“So, you never fought any of them?”

He shook his head. “How about you,” he said, trying to turn the conversation away from him. “You’re a metamorphmagus.”

He said it with as much controlled awe as he could. Metamophmagi were incredibly rare in the wizarding world. Unlike him, Arya’s abilities were born and not made.

“That’s right,” she replied, as she straightened up to a normal sitting position. “Best in my class for Concealment and Disguise without study.” She winked at him and Gendry felt the tip of his ears redden again.

“That’s great,” Gendry replied without much gusto. He wasn’t sure how to interact with women his age or younger who hadn’t been his students. And that was mostly because he held some form of authority over them. Other women who had had the bad luck of making his acquaintance often regarded him piteously for his surly and sorrowful disposition, unaware of the burden he carried all his life. But Arya was different, he thought. She conversed with him like they’ve known each other for years. It made him feel both uneasy and comfortable at the same time.

Arya, he thought rather sadly, would be no different once she figured him out too. He wasn’t much fun - if any - while she looked to be full of it. She’d want to hang out with the other members of the Brotherhood soon enough. Why would she spend time with his sad, sorry self anyway? Gendry would just entertain her for now while she was still trying to get to know him.

Arya continued their conversation until she must’ve thought he was annoyed at her given his one-word replies that she soon moved on to talking to the help instead. Gendry watched as Arya befriended little Weasel, the spindly little house elf with bulging green eyes who always sounded like she was crying. At first, the creature addressed Arya with a “My Lady” given Arya’s a pureblood but no sooner did Arya command Weasel to simply call her by her name.

“I’m no lady, little Weasel,” Arya said as she flicked her wand to open the oven door for the little pastries the elf had been putting together. Weasel made a noise like a cry but obeyed, nonetheless.

When Weasel vanished in the cellar to fetch some wine bottles, Arya turned to Gendry with her nose turned up in question. “Who owns Weasel?”

“No one,” he replied. “I mean, Beric freed her from the family she used to serve before, but she was too frightened to go anywhere else. She decided to stay here and serve the Brotherhood instead.”

“They hurt her, didn’t they?”

Gendry noticed the fierceness in her gaze and decided that he wouldn’t want to be at the end of it.

“They did. They had to grow the bones on her left foot.”

“Bastards,” she spat.

She picked up a green apple from the fruit basket on the table and chewed loudly and gracelessly. After incinerating the core with a quick spell, Arya watched Gendry as if she was expecting him to say something.

“You’re not an Animagus, are you?” Gendry suddenly had a sense of pure dread at the question. He was hoping she wouldn’t figure him out so soon given how much he was enjoying her company.

“I-I don’t know what you mean.”

“You seem different, that’s all,” she shrugged. “Not like the rest of them here.”

Gendry didn’t know if he was breathing. He just met this Arya Stark and somehow, deep within him, he already wanted her to see him no differently than how she did the rest of them, even though he knew that it would never be. How could he share his affliction to this brilliant young Auror in front of him? Apart from being a metamorphmagus, Arya didn’t look nor feel nor smell anything out of the ordinary. She looked so pure and strong and worthy of the great things she already was and more and he didn’t think that his being a half-blood werewolf would help her achieve any of that.

“Hey, are you okay?” she asked after a few moments of complete silence from him. “I didn’t mean to intrude or anything, I was just curious. You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to.”

Her reassuring smile disarmed him and with a small sigh he confessed, “I’m actually part-wolf.”

The sheer surprise on her face was all he remembered before the rest of the Brotherhood sat themselves on the tables around them ready for supper and their conversation was cut short.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fair warning, I'll try to be as accurate as I can with the HP world but it'll most likely be a little more flexible than the usual so apologies for my die-hard HP fans! But feel free to let me know if I made a staggering error :)
> 
> Let me know what you all think, I love reading your comments, and see you all on the next chap featuring Arya and Gendry's first mission together! xx


	2. Chapter 2

A summer storm galloped in just before midnight.

Even tucked in the library surrounded by candlelight, Gendry felt every shudder of thunder as it rumbled across the space around him. Occasionally, the room lit up in flashes of white light, illuminating his hunched figure by the oak desk situated across the burning hearth. Most of the house was quiet except for a few rooms where some of the members of the Brotherhood made loud, conspiratorial snoring.

Gendry sat quietly, his eagle-feather quill dipping, tapping and flowing on the parchment as he thought out the words. It paused when he did, looking up and out of the window behind him just as thunder cracked so loud, he almost flinched if he hadn’t expected it. A small yelp followed by a curse answered it and he turned to the open doorway to see Arya, frowning as if stalked by an invisible enemy.

“Found the climax to your great wizarding novel yet?” she asked as she sat on one of the leather chairs across from him.

“And they were all struck by lightning and died,” he said. He pinched the quill in mid-air and set it down on the table. “The end.”

Arya scoffed. “You’re a terrible writer.”

“There’s no denying that.”

Gendry’s curious gaze settled on her, unaware of his open admiration of the soft features of her face, gilded by the firelight. Arya was young, perhaps a year or two older than twenty. But those eyes…they seemed older, wiser, but also alight with a measured, wicked delight. Gendry thought she was the most enchanting creature he has ever seen in all his thirty-two years.

Her eyes roved the contents of his desk before snagging on him. She eyed him carefully, almost hawk-like, her gaze curious and unwavering and Gendry fought not to squirm on his seat.

“So, you’re a werewolf huh,” she said after a while. Gendry grimaced at the word. It didn’t sound so bad coming out of her mouth but to him it was pretty much synonymous to unclean. Unworthy.

“I am.” He dreaded to contemplate what she would say next. She’d probably comment on his rather unkempt appearance with his growing beard and black, shaggy hair. It was a nightmare trying to tame it every morning and he was half-tempted to just shave it all off. His attire probably didn’t help either. He must look like a shadow compared to the bright, lively colours that was Arya Stark.

He owned nothing else but a few pairs of dark-wash pants and grey sweaters. His overcoat, hanging on the back of his chair, was patchy and fraying, and he didn’t even want to look at his scuffed-up boots; his only decent pair. Being a poor, lowly half-blood werewolf must be a curious sight for a rich, young, pure-blooded Auror.

“Did you know my cousin’s great-uncle invented the Wolfsbane potion?”

Gendry blinked. Of all the things Arya were to say, her telling him a fact about the draught that helped turn him into an ordinary and sleepy wolf instead of a murdering creature had him utterly surprised.

“Your cousin? You mean Aemon Targayen’s half-blooded nephew?” he asked, incredulous. She couldn’t possibly be taking about Jon, was she?

“Jon Snow’s his name,” she said. Gendry blanched. “You know him, don’t you? You were friends with him back in Winterfell. He used to use those dumb nicknames to talk about you and your little group, that idiot. Messers Grey Wind, Kraken, Bastard and the Bull.” She eyed him up and down, her eyes twinkling in delight. “I take it you’re the bull.”

Gendry muttered a “yes” and Arya reclined back, looking far too self-satisfied for her own good. He couldn’t believe that _she_ was the little cousin that Jon was talking about. The “rascal” whom Jon had adored and corresponded with almost every day the entire time they were in school. The one who sent him drawings of their little “pack” all in full colour for Jon to hung up next to his bed. Gendry laughed at the memory.

He remembered that fierce, nipping grey owl that would bring in her letters. Nymeria, if he remembered correctly. Arya’s owl. Jon had told Gendry how many times he wrote her to train the creature from trying to bite him every time his fingers hovered a little too close to its beak.

He shook his head in amusement.

“Of all the people in Westeros, I didn’t expect to meet Jon’s favourite cousin.”

Arya beamed at that and if it weren’t for the firelight, Gendry swore her hair looked a little brighter than usual.

A hard knock interrupted Arya from saying anymore and Eddard strode in right by where she sat.

“I know you both just met and it’s the middle of the night, but I need you two to do something for me.” The mood turned from light to worried in seconds. They exchanged worried glances, but it was Arya who spoke, noting her father’s clear agitation.

“What is it, father?” she asked, joining Gendry who was now standing.

“There’s been an attack on a student in Winterfell,” Eddard replied, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I’ve already sent Beric ahead of me, but I need you and Gendry to go to the Eyrie immediately and escort your mother, Rickon and Sansa to Riverrun. Take your mother and Sansa first then Gendry with Rickon. It’ll be less suspicious.”

“Why can’t we send an owl?” Arya suggested. “Nymeria flies fast.”

“Too risky,” Gendry said, and Eddard nodded in agreement.

“It’s easier and safer if both of you go,” her father told her. “I’ve alerted the rest of the Brotherhood. Everyone should be on watch.”

Arya summoned Weasel with a gentle call and the tiny creature apparated by her feet carrying a small, purple, beaded handbag. She turned to Gendry and pointed to his clothes.

“Want to grab some things for the road?” Gendry glanced between Arya and the small bag she was holding but thought better than to ask. Time was of the essence after all. He knelt down and whispered a list of things for Weasel to grab from his room. Arya’s gaze lingered at Gendry before turning back to her father.

“What does the attack have to do with our family?” she asked. Gendry paused to listen, but Eddard didn’t elaborate.

“Precaution.” And as loud as the booming thunder from outside, he disapparated.

**~**

Given the distance from Pinkmaiden to the Eyrie, Arya and Gendry decided to apparate to the Leaky Crossroads and use Floo powder the rest of the way there. Their plans turned sour, however, when, upon arriving, the stormy weather had flooded through the unmaintained foundations of the establishment and washed down the inn’s stock of Floo powder along with it.

“Seven ridiculous hells,” Arya cursed at their misfortune as they waded their way to the flooded lower levels and up the staircase to the second floor. A small smile graced Gendry’s face as he followed Arya to their rooms. He was embarrassed to admit that he didn’t have enough galleons to purchase them separate rooms but was relieved to hear that the Brotherhood had arrangements made with the owner for any member who needed temporary refuge.

The room was sparsely finished: two single beds and an old wooden table separating them, a large pane-glass window, and a small hearth with a low fire burning. The room was so incredibly dusty that Arya swore she’s never sneezed this much her entire life.

She produced her wand and uttered, “_Tergeo_.” The wand siphoned all the dust particles from the room including the musty, lingering smell. Looking rather pleased with herself, Arya went to the adjoining bathroom and did the same. She returned wearing an oversized knitted jumper with a large “A” knitted at the centre. She plopped down on the bed and turned towards a half-wet Gendry who was sat on his bed.

“Oh,” she exclaimed before turning on her other side to grab her beaded bag. She tossed it at him.

“I charmed it,” Arya said with a yawn. “Your belongings are all in there. Didn’t you notice that we didn’t have anything with us all this time?” Come to think of it, it had been lost on him. After Eddard disapparated, Gendry went up to his room to check on Weasel but finding that she was already gone, he came back down to see if she was with Arya. Before he could ask her, Arya grabbed his upper arm and disapparated them out of there.

He looked down at the bag then back at Arya whose eyes were slowly closing. “Well, give it a flick,” she said.

Gendry summoned his old pyjamas and imagined what it’d be like to be as innovative and practical as Arya Stark, but he couldn’t, no matter how hard he tried.

When he returned from the bathroom, Arya, still on her side facing his bed, was already fast asleep. The rain and thunder continued to make loud booming noises outside, slowly lulling him to sleep. But more than the loud, thunderous sounds and the warmth of the low-fire, it was the thought of this brilliant witch sleeping across from him that lulled him completely to a dreamless sleep.

**~**

The next day didn’t fare any better without the Floo powder, but at least the rain had finally slowed to a light drizzle. They stood outside the Crossroads, Gendry contemplating on apparating to Harrenhal, when Arya exclaimed, “Accio brooms!”

She tossed one at Gendry who caught it with a questioning look.

“Hope you don’t mind a more scenic route,” she winked. She took off and with no other choice, Gendry followed after.

The wind and the light rain tore at them but amidst it all, Arya looked to be having the time of her life as she bounded past him with a dive and a twirl, laughing as she went, before shooting upwards and coming right back down to match his speed beside him. He stole a glance at her flushed cheek and her pink hair plastered on her forehead. She looked breathtaking.

The sprawl of the Riverland spread before them, the country estates and small towns speckled about. Gendry had never owned a broom in his life. He knew how to ride one, of course, but mostly out of duty with Robb, Jon and Theon always riding about in Winterfell and its surrounding parts. Robb had been a masterful Quidditch player and Gryffindor’s best keeper in years. Jon was a beater and Theon a rival beater for Slytherin. Gendry often sat alone during their games, content on watching them from afar.

Arya was much of the same. He reckoned she would’ve been quite a talent in Winterfell and probably played a position on her House team. He watched as she glided a little higher and reached out with both arms, stretching and drinking in the fresh air.

The rain clouds broke and the sun and the scrub and the undulating grasslands beckoned in the distance. He noticed the visible moon and marked its shape. A half-moon. It wouldn’t be long before he has to tuck himself away again in the darkness of the basement at Winter Place. He didn’t dread it as much now with a bit of Wolfsbane potion. But it was the week leading up to it that was the worst.

**~**

The Eyrie was a huge fortress that straddled the top of a peak in the Mountains of the Moon several thousand feet above the valley floor below. The Arryns were a very old line of purebloods who had occupied the hulking castle since as far as anyone could remember.

Arya and Gendry were led to the High Hall’s main audience chamber where Arya’s mother greeted her daughter with a fierce hug. Gendry stood watching from a few feet away, charmed by the group of people Arya called family, mostly because they looked nothing alike.

Her youngest brother, Rickon, with the shaggy hair and the mischievous smile could be the closest-looking one to Arya but her sister Sansa and her mother Catelyn – graceful and tall with long red-hair – looked nothing like the Auror.

“This is Gendry, by the way,” she said, motioning him over. “Father sent us both to fetch you.”

Gendry could feel their eyes bore into him, Sansa a little longer on his face. She must’ve noticed the scars, he thought, and he bowed his head reticently, oblivious to the glare Arya sent her sister’s way.

**~**

The Starks didn’t warrant any more convincing and it wasn’t long before Arya and Gendry were on their way to Riverrun where Arya’s grandfather resided. It hadn’t occurred to Gendry just how powerful Arya’s lineage was. The Others take him, but Arya had ancient pureblood family blood running in her veins. Stark, Tully, possibly even Targaryen.

How she could stand to be with a half-blood werewolf like him astounded him. Even her family, apart from the curious and naïve Rickon, were a little sceptical of his appearance and nature even though they treated him kindly. Not that it's new, he thought. He was very much a threat to their life even if they knew it or not. And besides, everyone always had their reservations upon seeing him for the first time, even Eddard despite his kindness.

But it was only Arya, of everyone who has ever met him, who felt comfortable enough to be around him without reservations.

**~**

They stayed in Riverrun for another day before Arya had to go back to work at the Auror’s office in the Ministry. “Can’t have them getting all suspicious,” she said.

He accompanied her to the Atrium, where a throng of witches and wizards flitted about their business.

He wanted to tell her how much he enjoyed her company the past few days and how he hoped that they would be partnered again for more missions but he was beaten to it by a loud voice that called out her name followed by strong arms that wrapped around her, lifting her off her feet.

Gendry took a step back as the young man twirled a giggling Arya about. He set her on her feet again and she pinched the stranger’s arm.

“I told you never to do that, Dayne,” she scowled at the young man.

“Couldn’t help it,” the man replied with a wink. They started to banter again, and Gendry thought it might be the best time to slip away unnoticed. Arya called him out before he could turn away.

“Gendry this is Ned, Ned Gendry,” she introduced. Ned gripped his hand tightly, his bright smile blinding.

“Pleasure to meet you,” Ned said, beaming. Gendry glanced at Arya who was shaking her head as she smiled at the handsome young man and Gendry, even with a veritas serum, didn’t think he could ever say the same.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit of a slow chapter but we gots to have them spending time with each other and for Gendry to be all sad and pining already, am I right? ;D
> 
> Thank you for all your feedback and love! So much more to come for our little lovers xx


	3. Chapter 3

Arya spent most of her evening watching Gendry. It wasn’t as if she had anything else to do apart from lounging about and snooping around in rooms she shouldn’t be. But Winter Place isn’t exactly a grand castle like Winterfell with its hidden rooms and enchantments and places to be lost in. There was only enough prying for an easily bored Auror.

It’s been eight weeks since she first met Gendry and since then, they’ve shared a few missions between them. They’ve mostly been short stakeouts – shadowing several prominent members of the Ministry, following up on suspicious trails – but he did willingly volunteer to accompany her to the more mundane of tasks like checking up on Sansa and her mother in Riverrun or taking Rickon back to Winterfell. She appreciated his company. Even if it was just having his quiet and steady presence beside her.

She wondered why he never accompanied her again to the Ministry of Magic since their first time though. She had offered to show him around one afternoon when they found themselves fighting boredom back in Winter Place, but he had gently refused. She concluded that it was probably Ned’s fault. She felt so embarrassed when he bombarded Gendry with all manner of questions the first time they met. Though they weren’t intrusive per se, it was none of his business to be asking _so much_.

But Gendry was a good sport. He answered Ned as politely as he could manage, though, Arya thought amusedly, there was a bit of a bite to some of them the more Ned piled on. She decided that she’d give Ned a smack the next time she saw him.

When Gendry told her about his previous living conditions in Fleabottom, Arya had never felt quite so irate in her life. Tywin Lannister, the Senior Undersecretary to the Minister of Magic, had legislated an anti-werewolf statute which forced Gendry and all the other werewolves in Westeros to live in utter destitution.

“No one really wanted to take a werewolf in,” he told her. “Of course, most of them think that werewolves are dangerous all year round as opposed to just one evening every month. But no one wanted to listen either. So, I had to make do.”

Gendry lived off doing a variety of odd jobs that were well below his level of abilities and income. He told her that if it hadn’t been for her father, he’d probably be dead or living quite wildly somewhere in the forbidden forest as hunting fodder. Arya shuddered at the thought.

Gendry’s only reprieve from his monthly transformations was the Wolfsbane potion. However, the brew was so difficult to concoct and the ingredients far too expensive that he never had been able to get a hold of it since leaving Winterfell many years ago.

He gestured to the marks across his face. “It’ll drive you as mad as any wild animal,” Gendry told her when they made their way back to Winter Place one evening after a rather gruelling stakeout mission. “You have to find a way to draw out blood somehow.”

“So, you attack yourself?” she asked, looking over the scars that adorned his face. He nodded.

“I usually have powdered silver and dittany ready to close up any wounds afterwards,” he said with a small, sad laugh.

“Smart,” Arya returned with a sad smile herself. She felt miserable just thinking about him hurting himself just so no one else would be. All his life, Gendry had suffered the pain of the transformations. It was no wonder that he’s kept to himself for most of it. After Robb’s death and Jon being sent to The Wall, Gendry had been left to his own devices; persecuted and oppressed for so long that it was a miracle he hadn’t found the wish to retaliate against the wizarding community.

And yet all the pain and the misery and the loneliness only made Gendry kind and good and worth more than he thought he was. Perhaps she could teach him that. Or at the very least let him know that he was more than just a valuable ally and member of the Brotherhood, he was also becoming quite a dear friend.

Gendry lifted his nose from the book he was reading and looked over to her, catching her eyes with his questioning ones. She offered him a bright smile which he returned with a more tentative one of his own.

Meera plopped herself next to Arya and handed her a tankard of hot, foaming Butterbeer.

“What’re you thinking about?” Meera peered over to the direction of Arya’s gaze but frowned when she didn’t find anything (or anyone to her at least) particularly stimulating for the thoughts. She shrugged and Arya fought not to keep staring at Gendry’s lonely figure by the firelight.

“Brienne sent an owl,” Meera said. “Apparently the Ministry’s losing their control. The Others have been seen across Westeros as well as around some Muggle towns.” Arya frowned. The Wall was guarded by the Others, a dark, foul, wraithlike creature that fed on human happiness.

Arya had encountered one once near the grounds of Winterfell when her and Gendry came on some business for the Brotherhood. The Ministry has been indignant of their being placed there for the students’ protection after the incident with an escaped prisoner from the Wall entering the school weeks ago, but her father was none too pleased.

On one particularly cool and cloudy evening as they made their way to Winter Town, which was a little bit past the school, a stray Other seemed to find Gendry of particular interest. With the honed instinct of a trained Auror, Arya immediately summoned her patronus in defence. The stag shone with a light so brilliant that it almost blinded Gendry.

“Beautiful,” he breathed, as he took in the sight of the spirit guardian as it galloped its way back to where they stood a few feet away.

“I’m sure your one is even better than my stag,” she told him, but Gendry only shook his head.

“It isn’t even close.”

Arya’s eyes twinkled with an idea. “Can you show me?”

“I promise it isn’t as pretty as yours.”

“Oh, come on Gendry, it’s probably not as bad as you think.”

A half smiled tugged on his face. It wasn’t easy trying to resist her. “Alright,” he gave in. “But you have been warned.”

Gendry pulled out his wand and uttered the incantation. A swirl of white light burst out from the end of his wand and at first it was a shapeless cloud of mist, but when Gendry closed his eyes and relaxed his shoulders and breathed out, the mist turned into a blinding, dazzling, silver animal that took in the form of a great wolf.

Arya was mesmerised by the animal as it bounded and leapt across the open field. It circled her stag, standing proud and watching, as Gendry’s wolf leapt and ran, leaving strings of white light in its wake.

“I knew you were shitting me, Waters,” she said after a while and Gendry threw his head back in laughter.

“Aren’t you frightened by it?” Gendry peered into her face and she could’ve sworn he sounded like he was worried.

“Frightened? By that?” Arya gestured to his patronus in disbelief. “Gendry, it’s wonderful.” And she meant it. There truly was nothing quite like it.

**~**

Gendry didn’t know what to do with the attention. He was fine with the polite conversations with the rest of the Brotherhood and their asking him for his insight on certain missions and the Dark Arts (it was his forte, after all). But having Arya as a constant companion all these months have become both the most amazing thing to ever happen to him and also the worst.

The most amazing in that _she_ was just brilliant and wonderful and funny, and whenever he looked at her wide-grey, mischievous eyes or her funky, colourful outfits and hairstyles, his heart would race a million a minute. He was probably being a nuisance to her, he thought, but he just couldn’t help it.

And that was what made it the worst. Even if he wanted to focus on their mission at hand or a passage of a book he was reading, his thoughts would always wander to her. Where she was, what she was doing, whether Ned Dayne was making her laugh. It was annoying, to say the least, but it was a pleasant sort of annoying.

Besides, it wasn’t as if she’d ever look at him or ever think of him the same way. She was far out of his league. Too beautiful and whole for his old, broken self. The thought made it easier for him to choose to spend as much time with her as he could, even though day by day, it hurt more and more to realise that she would never see him as anyone other than her ally and friend.

Nevertheless, it never stopped him from negotiating with Arya’s pre-assigned partners so he could spend time with her. He once convinced Pod, who was another member of the Brotherhood, to trade places with him on a scouting mission with Anguy just so he could help Arya look in on the makings of a vanishing cabinet in some strange, antique store at the Twins.

It wasn’t a particularly exciting operation, but he was glad to see Arya in action. For someone so eye-catching, she was an outstanding snoop, blending in with her surroundings so well, as quiet as a mouse. Gendry looked too conspicuous for the job with the markings on his face, but Arya thought he was perfect.

When she ran her fingers through his hair to ruffle it a little bit so he can “really play the part of an evil wizard”, Gendry didn’t think he was breathing.

They returned at random times for three months after that, watching and asking questions and buying the strangest items to make it less suspicious as possible.

They eventually abandoned the mission when it seemed to lead nowhere but they made note of every visitor since, including a notorious White Walker, Ramsay Bolton, who happened to be the very person who “persuaded” the Wizengamot to sentence Jon to the Wall.

It took every ounce of Gendry’s strength to hold Arya down when she saw him enter the shop.

“I’m gonna kill him, I swear I’m going to.” Her hair had turned a fiery-burnt orange at her threat, her hands trying to break his hold around her.

“You’ll get the chance,” he told her. “I promise.”

She stopped her squirming and regarded him with curious eyes.

“You promise?” She quirked a brow. Gendry nodded, a fierce determination in his own eyes.

“He’ll get what he deserves.”

He often made promises like that to her, mostly because he agreed with it but really, it was because he liked it when she smirked at him. It was like they were meant to take down this evil together. As partners of sorts. Battle-ready and determined to put an end to the tides of war that loomed over their heads.

**~**

Arya couldn’t deny that the months doing jobs with Gendry had been some of the best months she’s ever had. Gendry was warm and intelligent and sometimes even funny. He didn’t think he was, but he has his way with making her laugh. But since returning from her brief mission with Ned, Arya couldn’t help noticing how more withdrawn he’s become with her.

Her and Ned were tasked to track down a suspicious-looking couple in Kings Landing and posing as a couple themselves (much to Arya’s chagrin), they infiltrated a small magical community within the slums of the Street of Steel that had been harbouring and profiting from illegal books on Dark magic.

She was certain that her and Gendry were in a good place last they saw each other but upon return, he was a lot more withdrawn. He acknowledged her kindly, but it was far too terse for her liking.

“Did anything happen with Gendry while I was away?” she asked Meera one afternoon in her office in Winterfell. Arya liked to stay with Meera in Winterfell when she could. The castle and its halls and its never-ending passageways always pleased Arya. And even after graduating many moons ago, she always found an excuse to come back and wander.

“Not that I know of,” Meera replied as she pored over her notes on Gillyweed and its possible healing properties.

“Don’t you think he’s a little more…by himself?”

Meera laughed. “Gendry’s _always_ by himself.”

“Yes, but I mean, a bit more than usual.”

Meera lifted her eyes from her notes and regarded Arya curiously. “What’s going on, Arya?”

The girl shrugged. “Just looking out for a friend.”

“_Just_ a friend?” Meera quirked a brow. Arya bit her lip, unsure what to say. Was Gendry really _just_ a friend to her? At most times he is, but sometimes, when she would catch his gaze lingering on her from the corner of her eyes or when he would drape his coat over her when it became too chilly outside, the lines started to blur.

“Would it be so bad if it was more?” she wondered out loud.

Meera’s smile broadened. Of all people her dear friend was to have feelings for, sweet, afflicted Gendry was the least of whom she expected. But if there was anyone who can open Gendry up to love and be loved, Arya would be the one to do it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was meant to be a little longer but I realised that it'd work better in the next chapter so here you all go! Gendry and Arya are starting to fall in love (Gendry's pretty much in love with her already haha). But it won't be fun and games any time soon...
> 
> Thanks for all the love and comments - they help me write even faster for you all <3 xx


	4. Chapter 4

The cracks within the Ministry of Magic began to grow and with it came civil unrest within the wizarding community. The efforts of the Brotherhood in exposing the truth about the return of The Night King came with unprecedented counterattacks from his followers, all scattered within the ranks of the Ministry itself. Tabloids were manipulated to publicly deny the Night King’s return and branded Eddard and other members of the Brotherhood as either liars or nutters in the press.

The Night King and his Walkers took advantage of the chaos and confusion as they quietly amassed an army of witches and wizards and dark and foul creatures to serve in the Night King’s plan to destroy those who did not and would not bear his mark.

Under the influence of Tywin Lannister, the pure-blooded Tyrells were won over to their cause of “peace” for the entirety of the wizarding realm, forcing the Brotherhood to make amends at the loss of half their allies within the Ministry of Magic.

With the Ministry’s growing suspicion of Eddard, Tywin’s eldest daughter, Cersei Lannister, was installed at Winterfell as High Inquisitor both to monitor and undermine Eddard as well as to spread Ministry propaganda. With Eddard under constant watch, Davos Seaworth, a fellow professor at Winterfell and a member of the Brotherhood, spearheaded the practical training of students in the Dark Arts within the school while Brienne Tarth, a no-nonsense Auror of the likes of Sandor, worked alongside the rest in continuing their efforts in spreading the truth of the Night King’s return and to prepare for the looming possibility of war.

The Brotherhood were split into several groups: Beric led his company quietly and secretly across Westeros to recruit witches and wizards to their cause; Brienne and Pod were charged with creating alliances amongst those pure-blooded families who were loyal to no one, and Sandor joined Tormund and his faction up in Eastwatch as they banded together to free Jon from incarceration whilst keeping the Wall and its foul inhabitants inside.

Arya’s younger brother Bran was a seer who worked at the Department of Mysteries. He was looking for a certain prophecy that the Brotherhood believed will provide them with the location of a weapon that will destroy the Night King for good. Arya alongside Ned, a newly-minted member of the Brotherhood, took turns guarding Bran in his search while Gendry continued his secret reconnaissance work.

An entire year has passed since Gendry first laid eyes on Arya back in Winter Place. So many things have happened since then – ridicule and threats, deaths and disappearances, a constant pressure to question their efforts for what they believed was for the good of the realm. But nothing could come even remotely close to where Gendry found himself in at the end of it: completely, hopelessly and utterly in love with Arya Stark.

He didn’t think it was possible to feel so strongly about another person since he’s always believed that it was never an option for him. The thought of passing on his lycanthropy to an innocent child was so unfathomably selfish that to even think about it made him ill. He would never forgive himself for passing on the pain of his condition to anyone else let alone his own child.

So, Gendry had lived his entire life set on never pursuing nor finding love like normal witches and wizards. Even his friends had found their halves – Robb had Talisa, Jon had Ygritte and Theon, well, he had his share of fun.

Gendry never so much as looked at anyone with even a slight expectation of romantic love. Not that other witches weren’t interested per se, but they did not really understand why his brooding, solemn nature wasn’t a strategy to allure them at all. He convinced himself that they would never understand. And really, no one did. At least not in the way that would let him see past the cruelty and selfishness of passing on his condition. He was unclean and unworthy and not meant for anything beyond his survival (and everyone else’s around him) every full moon.

Besides, he remembered amusedly, one look at the ridiculously handsome and unbelievably charming Robb, and their previous thoughts of him would vanish quicker than you can say “_Evanesco!”._

Gendry watched the way Arya’s eyes would light up whenever Ned was around Winter Place or at the casual mention of his antics in the Auror office. He couldn’t deny the young man’s charm – he was handsome and polite and charismatic and had the same profession as Arya. They were around each other for the most part of their days and they had a rapport that he knew he could never compete with. And even if him and Arya would spend many days together doing their own jobs for the Brotherhood or simply lounging around in Winter Place, he knew it would never be the same. Ned was everything Arya Stark deserved to be with. No one less. Especially not him.

**~**

The Christmas of their first year knowing each other, Arya invited Gendry to Riverrun to spend it with her family. Not wanting to be of a nuisance or a disturbance to the usual Stark celebrations, Gendry faked an excuse and proceeded to stay in Winter Place during the period and celebrated the occasion with Weasel instead. He may not be very vocal about his feelings, if at all, but he was not going to let any of Arya’s family members even think for one moment that an old, poor werewolf like him would have feelings for the youngest daughter in the family. He couldn’t embarrass Arya like that.

So, on Christmas Day he sent his apologies to Arya along with a peace offering: a few packets of liquorice wands and blood-flavoured lollipops – her favourites.

Gendry helped Weasel cook a delicious roast chicken dinner complete with crispy potatoes and green beans and a tankard of warm cider to share. Even with the crying little elf and the biting cold that came with the snowfall, Gendry was grateful for the relative peace of the holiday season.

Winter Place didn’t have its own television set, but it did have a remarkable record player that was left behind by the previous owners of the house. Arya loved listening to Jenny Oldstone, a Muddese witch and popular singer known as “The Singing Sorceress”. Gendry didn’t think he could be fonder of Arya, but he was glad to be mistaken, especially after he caught her twirling about to a few of her songs when she thought was no one was looking.

Grinning at the memory, Gendry pulled out a Jenny Oldstone Yulemas special record to play and sat himself next to the hearth as he watched the snow fall delicately and unhurriedly through the window.

He was grateful for the peace and quiet within the wizarding realm as he allowed himself the pleasure of wondering what Arya would be doing at that moment in Riverrun. Was she humming along to the same Yulemas tunes? Or was she singing some Christmas carols with her family around their decorated tree? He smiled at the thought of her beautiful, happy face and content, he found himself slowly drifting off to sleep.

A loud scraping noise of someone prying open the front door awakened him, and he jolted up in alarm. After sending a frightened Weasel up to his room, he pulled out his wand and cautiously approached the hallway. Someone on the other end was obviously struggling with the bolts as it made a terrible rattling noise. He frowned as he came closer, hearing the intruder mumble a few words and curses before they shouted, “Gendry, open the damn door! I know you’re in there!”

_Arya?_ Gendry fumbled with his hand as he immediately unlocked the door and opened it to a sour-faced, orange-haired Auror who looked at him deadly.

“Arya I- “

She shoved him aside as she entered, shaking the powdered snow off her hair and coat. Gendry couldn’t believe his surprise upon seeing her as he numbly watched her rid herself of her coat and gloves and scarf, tossing them haphazardly on the hooks by the entry way.

“Are you going to close the door, or do I have to do it for you?” Gendry shook away his reverie and proceeded to close it, disbelief etched on his face. He followed Arya as she marched her way into the living room and sat herself on the chair he previously occupied.

He watched her from his spot a few feet away, not really knowing what to say. Then she glared at him furiously and he concluded that this was definitely the day that Gendry Waters was going to die. He waited with bated breath for her to _stupefy_ him, but instead she said, “You didn’t come.”

Gendry expected her to shout at him for bailing out on her but the way she said it so softly, almost like a whisper, made Gendry feel immediately ashamed.

“Why didn’t you come?” she asked. Her eyes were sad now. Still a little angry but sadder. Gendry scratched the back of his head sheepishly.

“I’m sorry for not telling you earlier,” he said. “I just didn’t want to be a bother to you.”

Arya sat up.

“I _invited_ you, Gendry,” she said. “It wouldn’t have been a bother at all. It _isn’t_ a bother!”

He hated disappointing her; he knew it as he met her eyes with his. He sighed. How was he going to explain to her the real reason why he didn’t go? He knew he couldn’t. Not really. So, he kneeled down by her feet and was about to grab her hands but thought against it at the last second. Instead, he gave her a small, apologetic smile.

“I’m so sorry, Arya,” he told her sincerely. “I’m just not used to being around people during the holidays let alone your entire family.”

Her eyes softened at him and he watched as her orange-hair returned to its usual bubble-gum pink hue.

“Just promise me you’ll come next time,” she told him with a playful glare. Gendry laughed as he straightened up. He didn’t think there’d be a next time, but he was happy to go along with anything she said.

“I promise I will, my lady.” Arya looked affronted at him calling her that and Gendry put his hands up in surrender. He knew how much she hated being called “my lady”. Sandor once called her that during one of their gatherings and the murderous scowl she gave him still sent Gendry chills. He wouldn’t be surprised if the entire room felt the same too.

“I’ve got something for you,” she told him excitedly. She rummaged through her charmed beaded bag and pulled out a few wrapped packages and placed them on the floor. She handed him the one nearest her and he held it in his hand, unsure what to do.

“Well, go on, open it,” she told him. He stared at her as if she was joking and she shook her head with a laugh. “They’re presents, Gendry. From my family. They would’ve given it to you personally if you weren’t so stubborn and just came along.”

Sansa gifted Gendry with a box of homemade lemon cakes, Rickon with an assortment of wheezes and sweets and a Nose-Biting teacup, Bran with some decorative runes from Qarth, and her parents with a luxury eagle-feather quill, a tin of treacle fudge and a pile of new books specifically from her father.

Arya grinned at his expression before pulling out another package and handing it to him.

“This one’s from me,” she said. Gendry carefully untied the red and green string and unfurled the brown paper to reveal a hand-knitted scarlet jumper with a yellow “G” on the front coupled with matching socks and a scarf. Gendry was overwhelmed by Arya’s family’s generosity and by Arya herself that he was rendered utterly speechless. Arya must’ve thought that he didn’t like her present, so she said, “I’m not as good as Sansa when it comes to knitting but I hoped a little enchanted needle would do the trick.”

Gendry shook his head.

“No, it’s wonderful,” he said, gratefulness etched on his face. “Truly, Arya. Thank you.”

Arya beamed at him and he stared at her like she was the sun and he was the moon and she was everything he needed in the entire world. He leaned forward a little, his eyes dropping to her lips. He ached to kiss her, to hold her, to let her know how much he wanted her. But he stopped himself, afraid of what it might do to their friendship. To this glorious, beautiful thing that they have now.

He leaned back and swallowed, trying to maintain a semblance of control. He didn’t notice the way Arya was trying to calm her breathing across from him.

He ran a hand through his unkempt hair and looked up to see Arya smiling up at him, shaking her head. He couldn’t help but laugh along with her. They were rather silly. He couldn’t help it, being around her so much helped him see so many things in life he never did before. Laughing and enjoying himself was definitely one of them.

“So, uh, I have bad news,” she said, stretching her legs out. “As much as I wanted to spend time celebrating Christmas with you and Weasel, since you and I are here together, Father thought it an absolutely swell idea to do some Brotherhood work while we’re at it.

Gendry had to take a moment to keep his bearings after hearing Arya saying she wanted to spend Christmas with him before nodding his head to acknowledge that he did indeed hear her.

“Where off to then?” he asked. They may not be spending time together in the warmth of Winter Place but at least they’d be together just like she said. Wherever and whatever it is that they’d be off doing.

**~**

Gendry and Arya apparated to one of the seedier parts of Kings Landing where a known White Walker, Tyrion Lannister, was known to frequent. The son of the Senior Undersecretary was notorious for his pleasure-seeking escapades, but Arya knew that the dwarf had a hidden, evil agenda that required careful investigating.

It was well into the evening when they arrived, and the sounds of celebrations could be heard from the pubs and houses that stretched across the street. Barely anyone was outside and even if they were, they didn’t give the two a second look. Arya was wrapped in a thick blue coat with her hair hidden underneath a woollen beanie while Gendry donned a grey overcoat complete with the hand-knitted scarf Arya gave him.

Their intel told them that Tyrion Lannister lived in a shack close to the main district. It wasn’t hard to spot given how rundown it looked compared to the rest of the identical red-bricked houses nearby. They huddled together for warmth as they waited for him to come outside.

Gendry emanated an incredible amount of heat, and Arya pulled herself a little closer to him. It was one of those nights where the moon was half-hidden by spots of clouds and a dusting of snow blanketed the grounds around them like white icing on a wedding cake. It was beautiful, perfect even, if it hadn’t been for the fact that they were there on a stakeout mission.

She leaned against his arm, clutching it with her gloved hands as they sat in comfortable silence.

“How’s your family?” he asked, breaking the silence between them.

“The same,” she responded. “Worry doesn’t do father any good though. It’s like he’s aged fifty years or something.”

Arya liked Gendry’s laugh. It was low and soft, and she would get a pleasant feeling in her stomach every time she heard it.

“And Ned?” Arya was surprised to hear Gendry ask about Ned. He never really troubled himself to ask her how he was going unless it had something to do with one of their missions and even then, he’d really only ask if she was okay and if Ned didn’t jeopardise it with his antics.

“Still as handsomely annoying as always,” she said with a grin. Ned really was such a wild one. Handsome sure but incredibly annoying, she thought. She much preferred Gendry’s calm and steady presence than Ned’s loquacious, happy-go-lucky self. She didn’t think she could handle his positivity and his compliments so much. He gave it too freely and too frequently and though she didn’t doubt their sincerity, it got lost in its routine. He was a great friend though, Arya would give him that, but a friend he would remain.

Arya felt Gendry stiffen and she let him go to look at his face with a questioning frown.

Before he could stop himself, he replied bitterly, “He’s perfect for you then, isn’t he?”

Now Arya was definitely confused. “Perfect for what, exactly?” Gendry didn’t meet her eyes, but she could tell he was glowering in annoyance.

“Gendry,” she called out to him. He turned her way, but he still wouldn’t look at her. She gently grabbed his face with her hands and made him look at her.

“What are you talking about?”

Gendry finally met her eyes and she saw it then: pure devastation, and anger, and self-pity all mixed into one.

“You think Ned and I have fallen for each other,” she said, realisation dawning on her.

“Why wouldn’t you?”

Arya let go of him and glared back. Of the many days, weeks and months they’ve spent together, here he was being a complete and utter fool. Did he not know her all this time? Were her actions not enough to show him just how much he meant to her? Was her telling him how much she loved spending time with him and how much she appreciated having his presence with her not enough? Maester’s beard, he was daft.

She stood up, uncaring that their mission would be rendered obsolete if Tyrion Lannister so much as looked outside his window, but she didn’t care. She looked him straight in his deep-blue, anguished eyes and barked, “You’d know perfectly well who I’ve fallen for, _Gendry_, if you weren’t too busy feeling sorry for yourself to notice.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ain't Gendry such a silly boy indeed! Thank you for all your love and comments - I appreciate every one <3 <3


	5. Chapter 5

During their fifth year of school, Robb’s uncle Benjen took the boys up North to the Frostfang Mountains near the village of the Fist where he worked as a Breeder of Magical Creatures. For the entire summer, Gendry, Robb, Theon and Jon hiked up the jagged, slippery peaks, slept under the cover of the brightest stars, and encountered an array of fascinatingly difficult and terrifyingly magnificent creatures of all shapes and sizes. The wintry squalls never hindered the enthused young boys as they hunted and foraged and learnt everything there was about the magical lands beyond the Wall.

It was the grandest, most amazing time Gendry had spent with anybody, and he was completely convinced that nothing could ever make him happier than those months spent with his dearest friends.

That was, until Arya Stark looked at him fiercely with eyes so determined and lips set in a thin line and declared that she had fallen in love with him.

**~**

Arya knew what he was going to say. She could see it in his eyes. Perhaps it wasn’t a good idea to outright tell him off for not seeing her burgeoning feelings for him, but it felt good to get it out of her chest. She knew Gendry enough to understand the inner battle that he struggled with when it came to his worth in other people’s eyes. She’d seen it first-hand. And she hated his conclusion.

When they were sent on a reconnaissance mission to Dragonstone regarding Bran’s cryptic clues on some obsidian material used for wand-making, Gendry and Arya had to pretend that they were part of a travelling circus of witches and wizards to enter The Grand Festival of Dragons and meet with their informant.

Arya had enormous fun pretending to be a seer, telling fortunes to the easily-persuaded Muggles who happened to find themselves passing time at the hulking island. Gendry, on the other hand, took on the less exciting role of a caravan-repairer complete with his set of tools purchased from Dragon Alley the day before.

During her breaks, Arya would watch him fix broken wheels, build tent poles and repair all matter of bits and bobs. “I prefer doing the actual work,” he told her as he hurled a half log of wood on his back to carry back to his temporary workshop at the edge of their encampment.

Though Gendry often looked ill the week before his transformation, during their time at the festival, he looked _far_ from. His undershirt was soaked with sweat and hugged his well-defined physique as he swung the axe up and brought it back down to the wood to split it. Arya watched, transfixed at the muscles on his arms and the sculpted chest peeking through his neckline.

She didn’t know how long she stood there observing Gendry, but it was enough to have him catch her with a questioning look. She didn’t apologise for openly ogling him; it never even crossed her mind. She realised just how much she liked watching Gendry. He was strong, beautifully-made. And he was far too pleasing to the eyes to not be admired.

Their last evening there, Arya was asked by a number of young male wizards and Muggle-folk alike to enjoy the festival with them. Of course, Arya was quick to say no but not without Gendry having heard some of their interactions.

“Should’ve gone with them,” he told her casually as he helped her pack up her belongings for the journey home.

“You’re kidding, right?”

“You might as well enjoy yourself,” he said. “The last one seemed nice.”

“What, like I’m going to run off with some stupid stranger?” Arya spat. “What if I said I wanted to enjoy the festival with you instead?”

Gendry choked at her words, but she only looked at him as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. She watched him, an eyebrow raised, awaiting his response. Gendry sighed.

“I’m not as much fun as they are,” he finally said. Arya scoffed.

“I enjoy being with you, Gendry.” She walked a few steps towards him and squeezed his shoulder. “Really, I do.”

He smiled at her, the corner of his eyes crinkling in happiness.

“I enjoy being with you too.”

When they made their way back to Winter Place onboard the Northern Express train, Gendry told her a little bit about his past and how he’s come to accept his being a werewolf. It was easier to isolate himself from everyone so as to not form attachments that could only end in disaster. Robb, Theon and Jon were the only ones, apart from her father, who really understood his condition and embraced it. Everyone else had either held it against him or simply didn’t care enough to bother with him.

Gendry wholeheartedly believed that his existence was to simply survive. He’s been doing it all his life, after all. Arya knew the difference between living and simply surviving. One of the most excruciating jobs she took as an Auror in Braavos proved that to really live was to choose life in every possible way. It meant understanding that there was a season to laugh and a season to cry, a season of pain and a season of rejoicing. Life was never a constant one or the other. But, she concluded, in all ways and every way, to _really live_ is to love.

Thinking about her siblings, her parents, and having lost Robb and now Jon, she knew that with living came harrowing pain. But when she was with people who loved her and people whom she loved, there was absolutely nothing that she couldn’t handle.

That night, as Gendry revealed the most vulnerable parts of himself and she saw no one but a kind, intelligent, brave and gentle wizard, she knew, without a single speck of doubt, that she loved him with every fibre of her being.

“Arya-“ she heard Gendry say, but before he could continue, Arya tackled him unceremoniously to the ground as she looked up and over the hedge they were leaning on, her gaze fixed on the ramshackle house.

**~**

Gendry’s heart was beating so fast and loud it was a miracle that Arya couldn’t hear nor feel it with her palms pressed against his chest, leaning on him as she fixed her eyes on the dwarf’s movement. He watched her from where they lay, the moonlight gilding her serious expression and highlighting the cold puffs of air every time she exhaled.

He has never felt as elated as he did then, watching her, drinking in the sight of her, and wanting so badly to tell her how ridiculously and utterly in love he was with her.

“He’s coming this way,” she hissed, a panic in her voice.

Gendry saw the moment Arya’s eyes turned from frowning to alarmed before she quickly ducked her head, grabbed onto his coat and disapparated them out of there.

They materialised right at the foot of the great statue in Baelor’s Hollow, a quaint little village in the city of Kings Landing. Arya was breathing heavily next to him, her gloved hands still clutching his coat’s lapels. He opened his mouth to say something but then Arya started laughing.

She let go of him and held her stomach as she laughed and laughed and laughed and Gendry couldn’t help but chuckle along with her.

“Maester’s beard,” she said, wiping the corner of her eyes. “_That_ was a close one.”

_Too close_, Gendry thought as he shook his head with a smile. If Tyrion Lannister had spotted the two of them, it would’ve been over for the entire Brotherhood’s operation. Thank the Maesters she was quick on her feet.

Arya opened her beaded bag that was slung across her shoulders and pulled out two wooden cups and handed one to Gendry.

“Aguamenti.” She refilled their cups twice more and they drank to their fill.

The single lamp post illuminated the dusting of snow that drizzled over their heads. It was almost midnight by now. Warm, orange light spilled from the windows of the houses that lined across the square and onwards to the narrow streets that curved and turned in all directions, creating a puzzle of shadows on the snow-covered ground. Gendry watched as Arya turned to him and met his eyes.

“I meant what I said, Gendry,” she told him softly, her gaze unwavering. “I’m not in love with Ned.” She took a step towards him and he steeled himself. “I’m in love with you.”

His heart pounded loudly against his chest.

“I’m too dangerous for you, Arya,” he told her. “I wouldn’t trust myself.”

Arya took another step closer to him, her grey eyes boring into his very soul. “I trust you,” she whispered.

Gendry wanted to brush a finger along her cheek and feel the softness of her skin against his. He wanted to tell her that he trusted her with his entire life. That he would do anything, _anything_ for her. But he knew he couldn’t. Shouldn’t. It was hard enough to know that he actually meant something to her, but to have to refrain from acting upon it was worse than anything he’s ever felt. He’d much sooner face another transformation than to see her look at him with as much longing as he felt and not be able to do anything about it.

He looked away, unable to meet her eyes any longer. Every possibility of being with Arya had crossed his mind. He desperately wanted to entertain them, wanted them to be real, but now, here she was, openly confessing the same feelings he’d always harboured for her… and he couldn’t do it.

He thought about the dangers that came with being with someone like him. He imagined what her parents would say, what the wizarding community would say; not about him, but about her. He wanted to protect her. To shield her away from the terrors that came with being with him. Her safety would always come first.

“Gendry.” He looked down and saw that she was mere inches away from him. Snow covered her hair and landed on her cheeks as she looked up at him with longing. He slowly reached out, unable to help himself. His fingers lightly touched her cheek and her eyes fluttered shut.

But he pulled away.

He took a step back, his breathing heavy. Arya opened her eyes and he saw pain and confusion within them, but he steeled himself. He couldn’t do this to her. He wouldn’t. He’d love her. But he’d do it from afar. From a distance where she was safe.

“You deserve better than me,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

It was as if someone physically ripped his heart out from his chest. Gendry couldn’t stomach it, he thought he was going to be sick. Then he saw her gaze dissolve from pain and confused to outright determined as she closed the space between them and kissed him.

**~**

The months after the holiday season was excruciatingly agonising for Arya. After she kissed Gendry in Baelor’s Hollow on Christmas Day, she thought that she had succeeded in letting him know just how much she cared for him and how his condition didn’t matter to her in the slightest.

But she was proven completely and utterly wrong.

After returning to Winter Place, Gendry immediately excused himself to his room under the guise of exhaustion and promptly left Arya to make her way to one of the guest rooms and contemplate what the bloody hell they were going to do now.

Annoyingly enough, Gendry answered that question for her when the very next day, he had left Arya a note saying that he had taken off to Winterfell to speak with Professor Seaworth about a particular job. Of course, Arya knew that Gendry only took off to avoid having to talk to her about what happened between them and she supposed that she could give him that. She _did_ spring it up on him. And though he didn’t exactly reject her kiss, he didn’t respond as enthusiastically as she expected him either.

The months that followed, Arya saw less and less of Gendry. When she did, he would acknowledge her with a cursory glance or a small smile, but he never lingered longer than he needed to. In fact, Gendry was avoiding her entirely.

She couldn’t stomach the unbearable ache in her chest every time she glimpsed him from afar. She desperately wanted to be angry at him, but she knew, deep in her heart, that her anger would only drive him further away. He needed space to think things through and she resolved to give him as much as she could. Even if it hurt to see him want her as much as she wanted him and not do anything about it.

**~**

“Are you sure you want to do this, lad?”

Gendry was exhausted. The bruised purple underneath his eyes were nothing compared to the pain that lashed against his back after that mishap with the Whomping Weirwood in his last mission at the village of Last Hearth. But still, he nodded his head in acceptance.

The only way Gendry could endure not being with Arya was to slowly and painfully distract himself by volunteering for the most dangerous of missions for the Brotherhood. Which is how Gendry found himself in Davos’ office asking to be sent with a negotiating party to track down a group of giants to persuade them to fight alongside them against the Night King and his followers.

The giants weren’t as intelligent as wizards or witches, but they were intelligent enough to understand the repercussions of a Ministry that would not agree to their violent and rather liberated lifestyle up in the northern lands they inhabited. Not to mention that they were also immensely powerful creatures that were difficult to detain since most spells tend to have little to no effect upon them because of their prodigious size.

The mission would take him and his company all the way to Hardhome which was a fishing village sheltered along the Shivering Sea that was situated at the tip of the large peninsula known as Storrold’s Point. Gendry and his company would meet Benjen Stark up at Eastwatch and travel along the coast till they reached the bay. He figured it would take them a couple of weeks more or less.

Gendry hoped it was enough time for Arya to move on.

“You haven’t looked this worn out since the day Eddard found you and took you back to Winter Place,” Davos said, eyeing him carefully. Gendry was too exhausted to argue. It was true. He must look as terrible as he felt.

“You know, Arya’s been asking about you,” Davos continued. Gendry knew that Davos was quite fond of Arya. He taught the young Auror when she was still in Winterfell and he was always so impressed by the sheer talent that Arya had possessed. It was no surprise, really. It was Arya Stark after all. But he wondered just how much Davos knew.

“You can tell her I’m doing fine,” Gendry told him.

“I’m afraid I’m not a very good liar, lad,” the old man replied. “Why have you been avoiding her?”

Gendry closed his eyes and wished that he could just fall asleep for a hundred years and wake up without the memory of a magnificent, pink-haired Auror who loved him back.

“I want to be with her,” he confessed. Perhaps it was the physical exhaustion or because he was just plain tired of it all, but he didn’t care. He just had to tell someone. “I want to,” he continued. “But I can’t. I can’t do it to her, Davos. She’s too good for me.”

“Did it ever occur to you that the young witch doesn’t care about what others are going to say?” Davos asked. “Or what you think of yourself? She’s smarter than she lets on, lad. If she cares for you, which it seems she does, then why make yourself miserable by believing otherwise?”

Gendry wanted to say that it was because that’s how it’s been his entire life. But now, after months of not having seen her or heard her laugh or her sweet voice, he wondered if it truly was worth it all. If maybe giving them both a chance at being together could amount to something that even his fears and doubts could not touch.

He shuddered at the thought, excitement and fear gripping him.

“I can’t give our child what I have,” he said, his voice breaking. “I love her. I do. And I can’t do it to her, to us, to the little one.”

“You survived it, didn’t you,” Davos said, leaning forward on his arms resting on the table. “I’m not one to say what you could or could not control but if there’s one thing you can control, lad, it’s what you have right now. And she wants you, doesn’t she?” Gendry nodded. “And you want her. I don’t think going on a suicide mission is going to change that fact.”

**~**

As Gendry waited for the others at the port in White Harbour a week later for their journey towards Hardhome, a corporeal Patronus in the form of a great bear emerged from the dim light of the dawn and an unfamiliar voice announced, “The Ministry has fallen. Eddard Stark is dead. The Night King is coming. They are coming.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for your patience, your kudos, your comments and the love. I appreciate every single one and they encourage me to seriously finish the chapters as fast as I could. Hoping to get the next one out sooner than this. Can't wait to hear what you all think! xx


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Mild language.

Arya’s eyes were wide, her face leeched of colour. She could feel Sandor watching her every movement as she sat on one of the benches inside the old Flint Barracks where they apparated in a few moments ago.

The branch of the Brotherhood known as the Night’s Watch occupied the abandoned stronghold of Castle Black, the unofficial headquarters for their guerrilla team that were sent to free Jon from his incarceration in the Shadow Tower of the Wall.

Arya arrived at Castle Black a week after Gendry had completely disappeared from Winter Place. Her father had informed her that he had taken off with Beric and his group as they moved further south of the Riverlands.

Furious that he didn’t so much as say goodbye to her, Arya decided to join Sandor and Tormund at Castle Black and channel her frustrations in freeing her beloved cousin Jon.

“Not your best day, Stark,” Sandor said with a mocking grin.

“Don’t remind me.”

Arya’s body ached; her head throbbed and the fear that gripped her as she faced more than twenty Others kept replaying in her mind. The Others were stronger the closer they were to the Wall. She wished she hadn’t underestimated them.

“That wasn’t your Patronus, was it?”

Arya wiped her mouth with the back of her hand after accepting a cup of Dragon Scale the Auror handed to her.

“What are you talking about?” she asked after a gulp. Sandor’s eyes narrowed.

“Last I checked your patronus was a stag and not some weak fucking wolf.”

Rage flashed in her pale face. “My patronus wasn’t _weak_.”

Sandor only lifted an amused brow at her.

“You think I’m some dumb little bitch to believe that?” Sandor scoffed. He moved towards a barrel of the alcoholic drink that sat on the edge of the bench and poured himself a tankard full. He offered to refill Arya’s and the young Auror accepted it with a growl of thanks.

Sandor braced his arms on the table and watched her closely. “Care to tell me what’s wrong with you, or do you need me to spill some veritas serum on your drink to get you talking?”

Arya gulped the contents that were already in her mouth all the while glaring at Sandor. She didn’t have any other explanation for the change of her patronus. At least, nothing that would make her look weak and pining to someone like Sandor who hadn’t a single bone of emotion in his body.

But, she thought angrily, she wasn’t _weak_. Gendry most definitely wasn’t weak. It was just that it hurt to hear that he’d rather face his death volunteering for the most ridiculously dangerous jobs than admit to his feelings for her.

That stupid, stubborn werewolf of hers.

She looked away from the Auror and swigged the rest of the contents of her cup. She didn’t have time for his infuriatingly nosey questions. Besides, she fended them off, didn’t she? Sure, it hadn’t been as easy as she had hoped it would be, but she still managed to get them away. Wolf patronus or not.

She pushed the empty tankard towards him and stood up. She still felt nauseated after that encounter and she wasn’t about to explain to him why her patronus had transformed from its usual form to the one resembling Gendry’s.

“I’m going to sleep.”

“Better be better than you were today, Stark,” she heard him call after her. “You’re not going to free your cousin with that weak wolf of yours.”

She slammed the door on her way out.

**~**

Arya slept in a cramped room by herself. The conversation with Sandor, the stupid mess she made with overestimating herself against their enemy and the thought of Gendry and his annoyingly handsome and infuriating face made her more exhausted than she’d ever felt in her entire life. So, she laid on her back and slept.

And slept.

And slept.

The door banged open at one point and she had the vague recollection of Sandor’s face demanding her to wake up. But Arya had lain there, half awake, unwilling to think or speak. Perhaps she had said something nasty to him or had cursed him for being so relentless because she remembered hearing his footsteps fade and the door banging shut.

Arya eventually roused herself and recovered enough to join the rest of the Night’s Watch as they finished their preparations for their attack on Shadow Tower. Arya and Sandor were paired up to take out the warden, Alliser Thorne, whilst the rest of the Brotherhood guarded their way out underground.

It wouldn’t be an easy feat, but they had enough powerful wizards and witches within their ranks for the mission to be successful. Arya wasn’t sure why her father insisted for Jon to be freed from the Wall tonight, but she had no complaints. She missed her cousin terribly and she could really use his comforting presence amidst these troubling times.

The Ministry kept a close watch on Eddard particularly regarding his “disappearances”. Only the Brotherhood knew what he was truly doing - piecing together the clues that Bran continued to uncover for the whereabouts of what Eddard believed to be a Valyrian wand – the weapon that could ultimately destroy the Night King.

Eddard’s quest had helped keep the Ministry’s eyes on him as much as possible, leaving the rest of the Brotherhood to continue on their efforts to recruit, to train, to rescue and to gather intel. Information, after all, was as valuable as the rest of their efforts combined.

As Arya and Sandor made their way to their post on the eve before their attack, thoughts of Gendry swirled and eddied with every step she took towards the ominous tower. Arya kept recalling the memory of the last time they were together in Baelor’s Hollow and the kiss they shared between them.

She ached to know how he was doing and whether he was alright. She looked up and took note of the waxing shape of the bright moon that was peeking through the clouds. He would be transforming soon.

As much as Arya wanted to be angry at Gendry for being stubborn and refusing to admit his feelings, she couldn’t stop worrying about him either. Sometimes, Arya dreamt that she was back in Winter Place and was waiting for Gendry on the other side of the basement doors after he finished his transformation.

He only ever allowed her to see him like that once, but it was enough for Arya’s heart to break in half when he emerged from the unlocked doors and almost collapsed on her, the exhaustion and the pain etched on every part of his body.

She supported him to the living room where he rested on the green couch and blearily told her that she needn’t bother with him and that he’d be fine. She waved him off, taking out her supply of dittany and closing some of the wounds that he had inflicted on himself in the process.

Arya watched Gendry as he closed his eyes and fell into a deep sleep. She noted his soft little breaths and the small twitches of his face as if his unconscious wanted him to wake up again. She threaded her fingers lightly through his sweat-damp hair. He cut it short at her insistence and she was glad he did. It suited him better. She loved the way it framed his handsome face.

The next morning, Arya had awakened to voices in the other room. She blinked a few times and tried to get her bearings. She was still in the living room, but instead of Gendry, she was the one reclined on the couch with a pillow under her head and a warm blanket wrapped around her that curiously smelt like her werewolf.

“I’m sorry you had to see that,” she heard a voice say from beside her. Gendry was sitting on the stool she occupied hours ago, his forearms resting on his thighs as he regarded her with anguished eyes.

Arya blinked a couple of times before sitting up. She reached out and squeezed his arm.

“It wasn’t a bother at all, Gendry,” she told him. “Really.”

Gendry was silent for a long while and Arya could see the inner battle going on in his head through his eyes. She wanted to comfort him and tell him that she would be there whenever he needed her. And that doing so was and would never be a bother to her. But then he looked up to meet her eyes and she saw a fierce determination in them, ones she’d never seen before.

“It’ll be the last time,” he declared. And indeed, it had been. Arya never saw Gendry post-transformation ever again. Even when she tried to match her schedule with the full-moon, he always managed to find a way to look “better” by the time she did get there.

Arya looked straight ahead and watched the looming Shadow Tower grew bigger and bigger the closer they got. She knew what it felt like to be weak and useless. When Robb died and Jon was imprisoned to the Wall, Arya had been in her second year at Winterfell learning about Herbology and Charms and the History of Winterfell. She hated that she couldn’t do anything about it. She hated how weak she was and how useless she felt surrounded by older wizards and witches who didn’t have time to answer a schoolgirl’s questions.

From then on, she vowed that she would never be ignored ever again. For her older brother who loved her fiercely and the cousin whom she adored with her entire heart, she was going to be the best Auror the entire wizarding realm would ever know.

She poured her heart and soul into her studies and honoured her brother and cousin’s memory with every Quidditch match, every examination, and every ridiculous prank her and her friends could come up with against any Lannister supporters in the school both students and teachers. Being a metamorphmagus had its advantages.

Professor Seaworth was the only one who really understood her. And at her father’s arrangement, Sandor and Syrio had come in to help her channel her anger and her desire for vengeance into the more practical ways against the Dark Arts.

“You’re thinking too much, Stark,” she heard Sandor say beside her, interrupting her thoughts.

“Didn’t know thinking was a crime,” she replied. Snow crunched beneath their feet.

“Overthinking should be.”

“I’m not overthinking.”

“Oh, spare me the fucking lies.” Arya slid a flat glance at him.

“I’ll get the job done.”

Sandor laughed. “Didn’t say you weren’t going to.”

The walled fortress of the tower where their target was located in abutted the enchanted hulking mass of solid ice where Jon and the other prisoners were kept. Tormund and his team would infiltrate from underneath via the wormways – a secret series of tunnels that connected the various keeps and towers – while Arya and Sandor would come in through the large doors with Arya transformed as a wild, stray witch that Sandor had apprehended for incarceration.

Once they gained Thorne’s audience and have taken the specific brass key that unlocked the cell doors, Sandor would immobilise him and Arya would copy his appearance. Then they would make their way to where Jon would be – the warden and an Auror so as to not attract suspicion from the rest of the prisoners. It wouldn’t be easy, but they had to get it done.

Arya replayed the image of Gendry’s pained expression and the longing that mirrored her own. She pictured a future she could have with him; a future that could only work without the Night King and the Lannisters and the Boltons and the Freys who tightened their leash against people of his kind. She would fight for their future, for a future where she could have him and he could have her. A future without prejudices and stigma. A future where they could love each other freely and truly.

**~**

Immobilising Thorne and getting to Jon was the easiest part of the night. Arya, with Thorne’s face could not believe the state that she found Jon in as she unlocked his cell door and saw him curled up on the far corner of the freezing, damp space. His condition had absolutely deteriorated to the point where he looked much older than his thirty-two years. He turned to look their way, his gaunt, sunken face, waxy skin and long, matted hair was far from the red-cheeked, smiling face that she remembered him as. Arya couldn’t move her feet as they stared at one another.

“Keep moving, Stark,” Sandor growled as he pushed her aside to enter and without preamble, he heaved Jon’s limp, light body over his shoulders.

Arya shook her head from her trance and transformed back to her own face. With a whispered spell, her wolf Patronus led their way out.

The race to the wormways proved a lot more difficult than expected when two White Walkers apparated before them, stopping them on their tracks.

Arya winced as Sandor threw her cousin’s body on the ground to duel one while she got rid of the other with a stunning spell.

“Stay with me, Jon,” she whispered to him as she wrapped his arm around her shoulders and continued their run down, down, down to the long-winding tunnels where their friends waited for them.

They got as far as the wrought-iron gates of the tunnels that led towards the other side of the Wall when they saw the flashes of light and the sounds of spells bouncing off each other on the far end, the intersection that Tormund and his group manned for them – their way out.

Sandor cursed beside her. They looked back, perhaps they could go out the other way instead, but the moment they felt the spine-tingling chill of the Others approaching, they knew they had no other choice but through.

Arya let an exploding charm loose on the foundations of the gate and they ran as fast as they could through the smoke and the falling debris of stone and ice. The lights of the battle between friend and foe grew brighter and brighter the closer they got while the layers of ice from the Others grew thicker and thicker around them.

Arya could feel every good feeling and every happy memory being sucked out of her. The memories with Gendry, which were at the forefront of her mind, warped and warbled as she tried to focus her breathing and made sure to land each step she made.

She stole a glance at Sandor and even in the darkness, she could make out the Auror’s pale face and hear his haggard breathing. Jon laid limp, bouncing on Sandor’s shoulders, mercifully unconscious.

Tormund let out a wild roar as he disarmed a Walker and stupefied him just as Arya and Sandor reached their party. The rest had taken off to clear their way out while Sandor and Tormund paused to look back at her when they saw she wasn’t following.

“Go!” she roared at them as she turned to face the dark hole they emerged from. “I’ll meet you outside.”

She ignored the concerned look Sandor threw her way and instead, she focused on her breathing. She closed her eyes, clutched her wand tightly in front of her face, and concentrated on the memory of her and Gendry flying across the Riverlands on their brooms, the sky bright and clear, his laughter ringing in her ears as he watched her swoop and swirl and fly overhead in pure and utter pleasure.

The skittering of the Others grew louder as they approached. They were almost there, almost in her reach before she breathed out, as loud as her lungs could hold, “_Expecto patronum!”_

And the darkness enveloped her.

**~**

The white stone building of the Citadel Sanatorium for Magic Maladies and Injuries was exactly what Gendry expected it to be. The reception area which doubled as a visitors’ entrance and an emergency room waiting area was filled with rows and rows of witches and wizards who sat upon rickety wooden chairs. Healers clad in uniform lime green robes hurried busily in and out of the rooms, their brows all furrowed together as if they were trying to remember something important.

Gendry was greeted by the Welcome Witch who rudely pointed him to the fourth floor of the building where he would find what he was looking for. With a hurried thanks, he rushed to the lifts, apologised for bumping onto a poor goblin with steam pouring out of its mouth, and pulled the wrought iron grilles up, tapping his feet anxiously as he waited for the lift to move. He cursed when it finally did, making a loud, cranking noise as it moved upwards in a slow, almost-laborious pace.

The morning when Gendry received the warning of the Ministry’s fall and the death of Eddard Stark, the Brotherhood fell into complete chaos. Upon taking out the radio receiver Arya had purchased for him from his bag, Gendry anxiously listened to the news of the realm’s demise.

He knew the information they disseminated were all lies fed by the new Ministry under the Night King’s control. They claimed that Eddard’s death was ruled as an assassination attempt by a band of rogue wizards led by Beric Dondarrion, who had been executed under the command of Jaime Lannister, the Senior Undersecretary’s son who had just been named as the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement – Arya’s division.

Gendry’s magic stirred as an unexplainable grief overcame him as they recalled Eddard’s greatness as a wizard, his service to the wizarding realm and for being one of Winterfell’s most beloved headmasters.

Gendry remembered Eddard as the father that he never had, and he wished he had been there for him. Perhaps none of this would’ve happened if he hadn’t been so stubborn and had stayed with Beric and his company instead of loping off to seek Davos’ permission to join Benjen Stark and his company towards Hardhome. When he heard that Arya had requested for him to take on a mission with her and her father to find the Valyrian wand together, he had refused.

Looking back, he wished that he had just said yes. Perhaps none of this would’ve happened. Perhaps Eddard would still be alive. And Arya. Wherever she was, he had beseeched anyone who could hear him for her safety. She had to be alive. He would know it deep in in his soul, in his heart, if she were gone.

As Gendry made his way to Pinkmaiden aboard the Northern Express train, Davos’ owl found him with a message that told of Cersei Lannister becoming the new headmistress of Winterfell, the rest of the Starks - save Rickon who was safe in Winterfell - are now in hiding in one of their safe houses in the Stormlands, and that Arya…was gravely injured.

He disembarked on the fourth floor of the building and rushed towards its reception area.

“Stark,” he told the squinting receptionist behind the glass partition.

“Room 27 and- excuse me, sir, wait! No running in the hallways!”

But Gendry had already taken off. He frantically scanned the numbers on the rooms as he whizzed past. _24\. 25. 26. _

Gendry burst through room 27 but paused mid-step as he saw Arya’s peaceful, sleeping figure on the cot by the window. His heart was beating so loud and frantically as he urged himself to believe that she was okay as he made his way towards her.

His eyes filled with unshed tears as he looked at her pale face and the mousy-brown hair that fanned her head on the pillow. He kneeled down beside the bed and took her hand in his, kissing it over and over before leaning his forehead on it.

Agony. Pure agony was all Gendry felt at the sight of Arya’s unmoving body. Every breath she took was a mercy to him, knowing that she was alive and breathing even if she wasn’t conscious.

He tried to keep it together as he brushed a stray strand of hair from her face, but his cheeks felt wet with his tears. He leaned his forehead on hers, his nose brushing her cheek as he whispered, “I love you. I love you.”

**~**

Arya awoke later. Hours, days, weeks, she didn’t know.

All she knew was that the painful throbbing in her head had now dulled and she was grateful that the feeling of nausea had passed.

She tried recalling what happened after she had released the patronus charm but every time she did, the dull ache would reappear and make her head hurt again. She sighed as she blinked a couple of times to get a sense of her surroundings.

The dim fluorescent lights revealed Gendry lying face down beside her cot with the lower half of his body on a wooden chair.

His arms cradled his head, one outstretched and lightly grasping her own. Wincing, she gently lifted her hand under his and rested it on his head, running her fingers lightly through his soft, dark hair.

Gendry stirred, sucking in a sharp, awakening breath. She let her hand fall on the side of the bed, clutching his gently as she savoured every feature of his face. His scars that ran across his handsome face. But his eyes settled on her.

“Are you alright?” she asked him, finding it easier to smile even through the dull pains that coursed through her body and head. Gendry didn’t have any words as he lifted himself up and gently brought his mouth to hers. Brushed his lips across her own.

He pulled back, his light-blue eyes on hers. “I’m sorry, Arya. For all of it.”

“I know,” she said softly, and no regret or hurt dimmed her face. Gendry caressed his thumb over the back of her hand before reaching down to kiss it once, twice.

“I know I should’ve told you earlier and I regret every day not telling you,” he said, “but I love you.”

Arya swallowed hard, her eyes filling with tears.

“I have loved you from the moment I saw you challenge Sandor like he was just any normal wizard.” Arya let her tears flow down, but Gendry reached out to brush them away. “And I’m sorry that it took me so long to say it. I’ve been so afraid of what it might do to you. What I still can do to you. But I love you, Arya. I do. And living, existing – it isn’t worth it if you’re not with me.”

Arya’s heart thundered wildly she was amazed that he couldn’t hear it.

“I love you too, Gendry,” she whispered, interlacing their fingers. “And if you hadn’t been so stubborn, you wouldn’t have to force yourself to say it while I’m on my death bed.”

At the mention of death, Gendry blanched. Arya shook her head, laughing.

“I’m kidding,” she reassured him. He leaned forward and captured her lips again. But this time he savoured it just as she did. The blessed feel of his lips on hers as she cupped his face between her hands.

His mouth continued to trace hers and at the slight pressure of his lips, the gentle request, she answered with her own. Soon, her hand was running through his hair and a soft groan came out of him as she pulled him up, so he had to balance his hands on the bed by her sides.

“Arya,” he said between their kisses. She didn’t want him to move but Gendry made himself pull away. He rested his forehead on hers, Arya closing her eyes and savouring the feel of him on top of her.

“Rest,” he said, as he leaned back and sat himself back down on his chair, watching her with that awed gaze he always reserved for her. She reached between them to clutch his hand and he enveloped her small ones with both of his.

“Stay,” she commanded him.

“I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for your love and comments! They make my day and the writing that much easier! Goodness, I love these two so much and I hope you all liked this chapter. A bit of action so I hoped you like that. I was so tempted to end the chapter at the end with Gendry whispering his 'I love you' to an unconscious Arya but I felt that was too harsh for you amazing readers. So here's a bit of fluff and love instead <3 <3


	7. Chapter 7

Eddard had planned it all. Breaking Jon out of imprisonment brought the Ministry’s attention to Sandor Clegane and Tormund Giantsbane, with the latter on the run beyond the Wall and the former nowhere to be found. Rumours of his disappearance swirled among the scattered members of the Brotherhood, but most have come to a conclusion that he had defected. Arya didn’t think The Hound did; she trusted him too much to think of his betraying them.

Arya was slowly recovering from the injuries she incurred at the Wall. Gendry was relieved to hear that there wouldn’t be any long-term effects but just to be safe, they asked her to stay in the Citadel for a few more days.

The young Auror grew restless, always asking Gendry for news about the Brotherhood, her family members and Jon in particular whom Gendry was delighted to hear was finally freed.

“Davos said he’s looking better,” Gendry told her from the chair next to her cot as he read the contents of his letter to them. Arya sat upright on the bed, using her wand to levitate the loose petals of the flower Gendry brought her the day before. “And Brienne’s taken Pod with her to find your mother and Sansa.”

“And Rickon?”

“Safe in Winterfell.”

Arya frowned. “With Cersei Lannister there? I highly doubt that.”

“Davos is looking out for him,” Gendry said. He reached out and squeezed her hand. “He won’t let anything happen to him, Arya.”

“I know,” she sighed. “I just can’t help but feel responsible for him now that father’s dead and mother and Sansa are being hunted by those shits.”

This was the first time Arya mentioned her father after his passing. Gendry wasn’t sure whether she knew about his death when he first arrived to her unconscious form almost a week ago now and he hadn’t broached the subject since.

“You didn’t go to the Wall because of your father, did you?” he asked with a hint of sadness in his voice. Arya, who was staring at the floating petals absentmindedly, looked back at him with a knowing smile.

“I actually went because of you.”

Gendry wasn’t surprised at that, but his heart constricted, nonetheless.

“I was so angry at you for leaving,” she whispered. “But angrier because you didn’t say goodbye.”

Gendry opened his mouth to interject but Arya beat him to it.

“You don’t have to apologise,” she said, waving him off. “I know why you did it and I’m going to tell you again right now, for the thousandth time, Gendry. It doesn’t matter to me. Your being a werewolf doesn’t matter to me. At all.”

She said the words so nonchalantly that Gendry thought that he must’ve been dreaming all of it. But her soft, adoring gaze made it hard to believe otherwise.

“You say that now until you see what I’m really like,” he teased. Arya reached forward to pinch his arm and he chuckled as he evaded.

“Can we go to Jon now?” she asked. Gendry thought about it for a moment. Arya was getting better and better each day and from Davos’ reports, it seems that Jon was too. However, he didn’t think she could apparate just yet and the journey to Pinkmaiden from Kings Landing was a long one and he wasn’t going to risk transporting her in any way that would be detrimental to her improvement. Including on her favourite broom.

There was also the small matter of Jon’s photograph plastered on all the “Wanted” posters that were spread throughout every major cities and towns. And – which Gendry thought was even worse – the Ministry’s desire to question Arya regarding her father’s death and her mother and sister’s sudden disappearance.

Gendry regarded Arya with a small frown, concerned that she looked far too unfazed by their current situation. Had her father’s death even sunk in yet? Or was she simply playing it cool for the sake of the Brotherhood’s dissolved operations? Or worse, for him?

Gendry met her eyes with his and he watched her body tense at what she saw there.

“I’m fine, Gendry,” she said, looking away.

“You don’t have to pretend, Arya,” he told her softly, in an attempt to console her. Instead he was met with a fierce glare.

“I don’t have time to think about it now,” she griped. The loose flower petals that were floating in mid-air fell and they scattered across the bed. “I need to know if Jon is okay, if mother and Sansa is okay, if Rickon is okay, and where that stupid fucking Auror went!”

Arya didn’t take Sandor’s disappearance as well as Gendry expected despite her misgivings of a potential betrayal. Gendry didn’t think he knew the Auror well enough to have his own opinion about it, but with the months that he did, he hoped that Sandor’s fierce determination to fight for the good of the realm would overcome whatever it was that the Night King and the Lannisters may have bribed him.

“Weasel’s watching over Jon.” Gendry had left specific instructions for the little elf regarding Jon’s treatment and he was certain that she was doing all of it and more. “He’ll be in good condition. I promise.”

“I’m tired of being weak,” she said, and he noticed the way her hand tightened around her wand.

“Arya,” he said, gripping her wrist and forcing her to look him in the eyes. “You’re not weak. You’re far from weak. You took out about a hundred Others all by yourself, all without help, and you saved Jon and the others in the process. If there’s anyone who’s weak, it’s me for not being there for you when you needed me the most.”

Gendry decided that he would never forgive himself for leaving her. Even watching her right then made his heart fill with incredible guilt.

Arya didn’t seem to share the same self-pitying sentiment he had as she threw the covers off of herself, grabbed Gendry’s neck and kissed him soundly.

**~**

Upon her release from the Citadel Sanatorium, Gendry and Arya made their way back to Winter Place where they spent a few weeks helping Weasel nurse Jon back to health.

Seeing Gendry and her beloved cousin together brought a warmth to the otherwise chaotic state of affairs that the Brotherhood without Banners had found themselves in now that Eddard Stark had passed.

Leaderless, the Brotherhood looked to Arya for guidance but the young Auror was quick to jab at her inability to do so.

“They need someone more experienced,” she said thoughtfully. Her and Gendry had been spending more and more time together, finding comfort in each other’s presence as the Ministry continued its hunt for every single one of them.

Ned Dayne had been a great asset within the Ministry and for Arya also. He was able to convince Jaime Lannister that Arya’s injuries were because of a job she had taken on when their department was still under old management. Arya knew the Lannister was no fool but still, that was time bought she was grateful for.

Her “innocence” also allowed her to return to the Ministry but remain uncommitted to regaling The Daily Raven newspaper of any comments regarding her father’s passing and her mother and sister’s disappearance.

Jon was nursing a cup of warm mead in the study when Arya sat herself down next to him near the cackling hearth.

“You’re looking better,” Arya said with a smile.

“I feel better.”

“That’s good.”

They shared a long, comfortable silence between them. The low sounds of the old record that Jon had put on along with the cackling fire and the pattering of rain outside was soothing. Comforting.

But Arya couldn’t help but think about the shadow that loomed over the entire wizarding realm now that the Night King has despatched his army of pure-blooded wizards and witches across all cities and towns, bent on eradicating the realm from those who would not bend to his rule.

The Daily Raven reports were chilling. Disappearances, murders, separations. They were coming, and the realm had nowhere to go. There were many groups who were resisting, taking in the liberty of creating their own secret factions throughout the realm in an attempt to fight back. However, the Ministry’s propaganda was widespread and their charms far too effective. Arya knew their methods of “persuasion” weren’t exactly ethical, but the resistance wasn’t united enough to stand against them.

They fought back as silently and as safely as they could – from their homes, their schools, and in the little things like harbouring hunted witches and wizards and providing them refuge against the onslaught of terror.

They would have to leave Winter Place soon too, Arya thought. There was a safehouse in the Stormlands that they could take refuge in. Brienne had confirmed that her mother and Sansa were safe there.

Arya wrapped her hands around her warm mug, breathing in the relaxing scent and steam. The Ministry will be holding a public funeral for her father the day after tomorrow, and though she wanted to go, she was afraid of what she might just do when she came face to face with the people who had killed him.

“I’m leaving for Essos after the burial,” Jon said, breaking the silence between them. Arya’s eyes widened in surprise.

“You’re _what_?” Jon offered her a placating smile, but she only stared at him like he grew a pair of horns.

“That sounds like the dumbest thing you’ve ever said in your entire life, Jon.” Jon was a powerful wizard with a good head of leadership on his shoulders. Arya was going to ask him to take over the mantle on behalf of her father but here he was planning on leaving them right when they needed him the most.

“Do you remember Sam?” he asked her. Arya frowned.

“The one who works with Bran?” Arya thought she might know him. The plump, skittery man she had encountered one time when she had been watching over Bran at the Department of Mysteries.

“That’s him,” Jon said.

“What about him?”

“Your friend Ned came by this morning with a message from him,” Jon said. Arya tried to remember what the bloody Maester she was doing to not have known that Ned had visited when she realised that her and Gendry had quite a brutal night the night before in this same room as they tried to piece together the clues that her father had left behind for them regarding the Valyrian wand.

She remembered waking up around noon, splayed unceremoniously on Gendry’s chest, both of them on the couch. She rolled her shoulders and winced. They were still quite sore from the awkward position, but she had no complaints. It’s been such a long time since she felt that good waking up.

“What did he say?” Arya asked.

“That we may have allies in the East,” Jon replied. “I don’t know much about the details, but I’m meeting with Sam just before I leave.” Jon turned to face her fully. “If there’s any chance of us ever winning against the Night King, Arya, I have to take it.”

“Haven’t you suffered enough?” Arya set her mug down on the occasional table. “How long were you in the Wall fighting for your life every day? How long did you suffer in their hands for a crime you did not commit?”

She watched his pained expression at the memory, and it fuelled her anger even more.

“I could go instead,” she reasoned with him. “I’ve been to Essos before. Whatever it is that Sam’s thinking, I’m sure I can handle it.”

“I don’t doubt you can,” Jon said with a fond smile. “But my mission isn’t as important as what you have to do.”

Arya frowned at him, confused. Jon stood up and picked up a black notebook that was sitting on the escritoire. He flipped to a page filled with his own handwriting. He unfurled a sheet of paper which looked like it was torn from an old book and handed it to Arya. On it was a simple illustration of what looked to be a slender woman wearing a long flowing robe that matched the length of her bright, ruby-red hair. There were ancient runes on the margins. High Valyrian, if Arya could guess correctly. She couldn’t make out their meaning.

Jon pointed at what the woman clutched on her right hand. Arya gasped.

“Is that-“

“The Valyrian wand,” Jon continued for her. Arya took the torn page and examined it carefully.

A soft knock on the door revealed Gendry. She waved him over without looking at him and he sat on Arya’s other side.

“How do we know this is really it?” she asked Jon, her mouth still open in surprise.

“What’s what?” Gendry asked from beside her. She pointed to the illustration and the surprise on Gendry's face made Arya laugh.

“Sam gave it to Ned who passed it on to me,” Jon explained. “Sam translated the runes. It speaks of the language of an ancient coven of witches and wizards called R’hllor. The markings in our own tongue means ‘all magic must die’ and ‘all magic must serve’.”

A chill snaked down Arya’s back, as if an Other had taken form behind her and run a clawed finger along her spine. Gendry noticed her stiffen. He placed a comforting hand on the small of her back.

“You’ve heard it before, haven’t you, Arya?” Gendry said. Arya vaguely nodded.

“These are not words often spoken in our realm,” she said. “This is magic beyond the darkest realms of the Dark Arts."

Gendry’s brows furrowed.

“I’ve encountered one of them,” he said, surprising the cousins.

“When?” Arya asked in disbelief.

“A long time ago when I was living with travelling refugees,” he said, embarrassed by the admission. “She was known as the Red Woman.”

Arya had seen some of these R’hllor followers during her time in Braavos. As far as she could remember, they seemed harmless. They were scattered along the streets of Braavos speaking in their strange, lilting language but apart from having eye contact with a particularly beautiful one with eyes as dark as the night, she never had any troubles with them. But looking at Gendry, who looked to be uncomfortable at the memory of this witch he encountered, she’d be lying if she didn’t want to know more.

“Was she friendly?” Arya asked. She didn’t fail to notice the way Gendry clenched his fingers tightly in a fist. She lifted a hand and put it over his, gently squeezing.

“She was at first,” Gendry said, his brows furrowed as if the very memory of their encounter was excruciating. “But I realised that she only did so to gain my trust.”

Jon interjected, “For what?”

“For my blood.” Arya and Jon shared a glance between them.

“Why did she need your blood?”

Arya was gently caressing the back of his hands with her thumb in assurance. Gendry was silent for a moment and neither her nor Jon wanted to push him any further than he desired.

“Apparently werewolf blood is rare and sought-after by their coven,” he said at last. “Don’t know what they needed it for, but she became a close companion. She looked out for me.”

Arya didn’t think she liked where this was going, but she let Gendry continue.

“She wanted me to trust her during my transformation,” Gendry said. “Apparently our blood isn’t worth anything unless she extracted it from us after we’ve transformed.”

“And did you?” Arya asked. “Trust her during your transformation?”

“I was hesitant,” Gendry replied. “I asked her if she had wolfsbane potion so she wouldn’t have to see the full extent of it in case I did something stupid. She said that the potion wouldn’t be needed. It wasn’t till later when she had me paralysed on the ground fully transformed as a werewolf did I realise why. Wolfsbane potion diluted my blood, and she needed it pure. Whole.”

Arya’s heart strained. It’s no wonder Gendry never trusted anyone else with his secret. Apart from the stigma, the prejudice and the indifference, there were others out there who also wanted to exploit him and use him for their own dark, twisted pleasure.

“It was the worst feeling,” Gendry continued. “It was like being burned alive.”

Arya felt Gendry shudder under her palms. She brushed a finger along his cheek; the moment not lost on her cousin who coughed pointedly beside her.

“I’m sorry about what happened to you, Gendry,” Jon said. “And you can be certain that it will never happen again.”

Arya nodded vigorously. She wouldn’t let anyone hurt him. Not now, not ever.

“But I’m going to have to ask you to be brave one more time,” Jon said. “This woman is the key to our victory against the Night King. She is carrying the Valyrian wand with her and since you and Arya have already mapped out the clues that Eddard had left behind, you’re the only ones we trust who can go and retrieve it.”

“He doesn’t have to come with me,” Arya was quick to retort. “I can go by myself. It’s not hard to track down a woman in red.”

“No,” Gendry snapped. Arya peered up at him, an eyebrow lifted. “I’m going with you.”

“Are you sure?” Arya asked him.

“I’m sure,” he replied with a smile. “I’m not afraid. Not when I’m with you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all your wonderful comments on the last chapter <3 <3 I hoped you like this chap! A bit more background on Gendry's past as a werewolf. Our poor, soft wolfie boy. Also, I upped the chapters because I realised I TOTALLY needed an entire chapter of Arya and Gendry on the road with a bit of awkwardness and lots of softness and love and fluff...as you do ;D See you all in the next one and I can't wait to hear what you all think xx


	8. Chapter 8

“I think they’ve just hurried into this engagement, that’s all!”

“They’ve known each other for a year now, mother.”

“Well, that’s not very long, is it! I know why it's happened, of course. It’s all these rumours of the Night King coming back. People think they might die tomorrow, so they're rushing all sorts of decisions they'd normally take time over. It was the same last time he was powerful, people eloping left, right, and centre…”

The sounds of conversation faded away, mixing with the music and the cheery pandemonium as Gendry made his way to Arya through the throng of people hovering over the grazing table of the feast. He was balancing a mug of Dragon Barrel brandy on one hand and a plate in another that was overflowing with sweets: a slice of pumpkin tart, two flaming kiwi cups, sticky toffee pudding, a treacle tart square and an edible chocolate basket filled with exploding bonbons – Arya’s favourite.

Arya snatched the basket even before Gendry could settle himself next to her and he chuckled at the sight of her devouring the chocolatey treat.

Gendry’s never been to a wedding before. He missed Robb’s one due to his feeling incredibly unwell after a rather punishing transformation, so when Arya had insisted that they make a detour to her uncle’s wedding before heading to the Stormlands as per Eddard’s clues, he was more than happy to oblige.

The wedding was held in Riverrun, the ancestral seat of the Tullys, Arya’s mother’s family. They set up a marquee just outside the castle walls that overlooked the lush rolling hills and the snow-capped mountains one could peek from afar if they squinted hard enough.

The entrance to the marquee revealed rows and rows of fragile golden chairs set around smaller tables filled with guests. The supporting poles were entwined with white and gold flowers and a bunch of golden balloons floated across the dancefloor. Outside, butterflies and bees were hovering lazily over the grass and hedgerow.

“What’s your uncle’s name again?” Gendry asked from beside Arya, nibbling on her fourth bonbon.

“No idea,” she replied. Gendry laughed.

“So, we really just came for the food, didn’t we?”

Arya shrugged. “Who knows how many uncles I’ve got around these parts,” she continued. “The North - if you don’t know already, Mr. Waters - is much, much bigger than the South.”

Gendry screwed up his face at the formal title. “Yes, but it’s your _uncle_,” he said, as if the answer lay within the word.

Arya turned towards the couple and scrunched up her face as if she was thinking deeply. Gendry watched them too, mesmerised by the soft looks they shared between them as they greeted their well-wishers. The bride was almost half the age of the groom, Gendry noted. But there was nothing but warmth and affection between them, despite the rumours of why they had decided to marry so quickly.

Arya let out a breath through her mouth. “I know he’s mother’s youngest brother,” she said.

“Of course, you’ll forget your uncle’s name,” said a low, deep-timbred voice behind them, “like the true Stark that you are.” Gendry turned to see a tall man with bushy eyebrows and laughing eyes of deep blue who regarded Arya with an impatient sort of fondness.

“Hi pop,” Arya greeted, picking herself up to hug the older man. Gendry stood up to offer his seat to him, but the man waved him off.

“Do I look so old that I’m to be offered a chair?” he asked but Arya playfully hit the older man on the arm.

“Be nice,” she said as she offered him her own seat. The older man grunted and sat down. Arya stood next to Gendry and leaned on his side.

“Gendry, this is Brynden Tully. He’s mother’s uncle and my second grandfather.”

“Your _only_ grandfather since your real one couldn’t care enough to live longer for you all,” the older man muttered.

“They never really did get along,” Arya whispered in Gendry’s ear. She recounted briefly how her real grandfather Hoster and his brother Brynden had been the kind of brothers that were inseparable as children, but indifferent as adults. Their relationship really began to sour when Hoster had arranged for Arya’s mother to marry a Stark as a means to continue their pure-blood line.

“What’s he got against half-bloods and Muggle borns?” Brynden said defiantly. “None of them’s done him any harm before!”

Arya told him of his deep hatred for the old tradition of keeping the bloodlines pure and had encouraged Catelyn to marry whomever she wanted to marry. Pure-blooded or not.

“Of course, mother wanted to please grandfather,” Arya said, “so she went along to meet the Stark brothers anyway. She was actually arranged to marry father’s older brother Brandon. But when her and father spent time together in the Ministry, well, they eventually fell in love.”

“I guess she did marry for love after all,” Gendry quipped.

“True,” Arya replied. “But to a pure-blooded still. Pop never really forgave the realm for that.”

Gendry laughed. Perhaps it was his upbringing – a supportive, kind and loving Muggle-born mother – or perhaps it was his own experience as a half-blooded werewolf, but he never held one’s bloodline against another.

He’s met kind Lannisters before but not many Freys and definitely not Boltons. His former classmate, Ramsay Bolton, had been a nefarious pure-blooded wizard who had often picked on Gendry during their school years for being a half-blooded werewolf. Gendry hadn’t done anything to antagonise the boy, but Ramsay had always found a way to treat him poorly for hanging out with Robb, Theon and Jon as if he didn’t deserve to be doing so.

One time, Jon got so fed up that he transfigured Ramsay into a squirrel in their third year. Gendry still burst out laughing just thinking about it. It worked somehow though since Ramsay hadn’t been much of a bother afterwards.

Gendry felt Arya shuffle to her other feet, but before he could offer her his chair, she plopped herself down on his lap and heaved a relieved sigh.

Gendry could feel his heart racing at her touching him, and he tried to wipe his clammy hands on his pants when he felt her hand grasp his as she gave him a look to ask if it was okay.

Gendry could only nod his head vigorously. She smiled her usual bright smile and turned back to her grandfather.

“I hear your cousin’s a free man now,” Brynden said.

“Apparently so,” Arya replied.

“D’you know anything about what happened up there on the Wall then?”

Arya shook her head. “Targaryen loyalists, apparently.”

Gendry knew they had to be cautious when it came to answering questions about Jon’s whereabouts. Even with those they believed were friends and family. As far as the entire wizarding realm was concerned, the breakout was a move by the resistance who were loyal to Jon as a Targaryen.

Bran wouldn’t say how he managed to convince The Daily Raven into reporting it, but his distorting the details was enough to lead the investigations away from Arya who had been there the entire time.

Nevertheless, their enemies were slowly piecing things together. It began a week after Eddard’s funeral where Arya had shown no interest in being civil with any Lannister, Bolton or Frey who were present.

An extraordinary assortment of people had settled into half of the chairs at the funeral, most of whom Gendry and Arya did not recognise. There were few that they did, including some members of the Brotherhood, but Gendry knew how much it bothered Arya to not have her mother and her sister there. Rickon stood next to her with Davos on his other side, all solemn in his dark robes.

Arya held Gendry’s hand the entire ceremony. People noticed, most especially Cersei Lannister, who had raised an eyebrow at their linked hands as she offered her condolences to Arya.

It was a miracle that Arya didn’t tackle the Lannister woman right then and there. Gendry had never seen her look at anyone so menacingly. He tightened his grip on her hand so hard he was afraid he was crushing her bones.

Afterwards though, she was grateful. “Thank you for being there with me,” she told him as they sat up at the Astronomy Tower in Winterfell after the ceremony. He planted a soft kiss on her forehead as they sat there quietly, Arya’s enchanted birds flowing up and about them as they watched the sun set from the horizon.

“Never liked those silver-haired shits,” Brynden continued, breaking Gendry’s reverie. “But if they’re good for something, it’s this.”

Arya hummed in agreement. They watched the newlyweds on the dance floor, twirling and laughing to the music, completely and utterly in bliss. One of their guests waved his wand over the bride and groom’s heads and a shower of stars fell upon their entwined figure.

Arya and Gendry joined in on the applause just as the golden balloons that were floating over their heads burst into tiny golden bells and birds of paradise that flew around the tent swinging.

Arya grabbed Gendry’s arms and wrapped them around her as she leaned backwards so she was rested on his chest.

Under the twinkling lights and the surrounding orchards now bathed in a dusky grey, Gendry had never felt more content and more in love with the woman of his dreams, the woman that he was holding tightly and securely around his arms. He wished, somehow, if they both survived their journey, that he could also one day get to have her as his wife.

** ~**

Gendry and Arya decided to avoid the major transportation routes to the Stormlands, knowing that the Ministry was keeping a close eye on everyone’s movements, particularly prominent wizards and witches who worked or was working with the Ministry. This included Arya who had volunteered to track down her mother and sister and bring them to the Ministry for interrogation. Of course, Arya would do none of that, but she had to make sure that Jaime Lannister would give her the time away from Kings Landing.

Arya knew that Jaime had sent an informant after her to make sure that she was doing her job. She tried to be as convincing as she could during the wedding. She told Gendry afterwards that despite the reprieve, it was also a means for her to pretend like she was buttering up her family in revealing her mother and sister’s location.

“How do you know he’s not watching us right now?” Gendry asked her as they made their way down the River Road on foot.

“Because as old as pop is, he’s still got a few tricks up his sleeve,” Arya replied mischievously. Apparently, the older man had spotted the intruder at the wedding and had challenged him to a rather intense drinking game that bought Arya and Gendry enough time to slip away unfollowed.

“Brilliant,” he muttered, in complete awe. Arya’s smile was as bright as her pink-hair under the moonlight.

Their journey on foot was more pleasant than both Gendry and Arya had anticipated it to be. Despite the dangers lurking in every corner and the chilling news that filtered through the radio receiver they brought along with them, neither one of them could deny how much they enjoyed each other’s company.

Their days were spent trudging along the vast expanse of land, forestry and shrubbery of the southern Riverlands as they followed the Blackwater tributary that snaked all the way down and out towards Blackwater Bay.

The weather had been pleasantly warm during the day and cool in the evenings, and sometimes, if they were lucky, they would happen upon a lake and they’d enjoy themselves in the water.

Gendry took care that his gaze didn’t linger too much on her form whenever Arya went off to swim. He may be half-werewolf, but Gendry was still very much a man. And watching the tiny droplets of water cascade down the ivory skin of her neck or her legs, or the way her undergarments would sometimes stick to her body when she jumped in without bothering to take off her clothes…it was intoxicating, to say the least.

And Gendry often found an excuse to be somewhere else than join her for a splash.

“Next time I’m dragging your ass in, Waters,” she told him, grinning as she plopped down next to him on the fire, wringing her pink locks.

It took all his self-control not to tackle her to the ground, rip her stupid, wet clothes from her body along with his own shirt and just take her then and there.

Arya wasn’t oblivious to his stares. She could feel his desire whenever they were in close proximity together, but she didn’t want to scare him off either by the intensity of her wanting him.

This whole thing was new to Gendry and in some cases for her too. She’s never loved anyone as much as she did Gendry to the point of hoping that he’d just carry her inside their tent, plunk her down on one of the beds and make endless love to her.

The thought sometimes made her so giddy that the cool waters of the lakes or rivers she would splash in provided a huge relief to her senses.

One time though, the heat and the desire and the ridiculously attractive specimen that was Gendry was enough for Arya to screw self-control. When Gendry presented her with a hand-carved wooden replica of Nymeria (Arya had given Gendry a moving photograph of her and the grey owl at his insistence as a keepsake), Arya pretty much tackled him to the ground and kissed him senseless.

It started off quite innocently, him on his back and her on his chest with her hands on either side of his face as she moved her lips over his. She giggled when he heaved upwards, carrying Arya along with him as she slid down to his lap. They stared at each other for a few blessed, electrifying seconds before Arya slid her arms around his neck and deepened their kiss.

She involuntarily moved her hips against his, her lips catching his groan. Arya did it again and this time, Gendry’s mouth had moved downwards to her jaw, kissing and nuzzling the skin there.

Arya began to unbutton his shirt, uncaring that they were sat out in the open in broad daylight. The defence and protection enchantments she set up earlier would hide them from any wandering eyes and ears anyway. They were completely and totally alone.

“Arya,” he murmured between kisses, his hand reaching up to hold Arya’s fingers mid-unbuttoning. Featherlight kisses brushed over her jaw, her cheek. “As much as I want you, because I do, Arya, I really do, I’m not taking you against a cold, dirty ground the first time.”

“I really don’t mind where you take me, Gendry.” She felt him laughing against her now-burning skin. It was an effort not to take one of his hands and guide it up to where she badly wanted them. To have him touch, take, taste. “I’m open to anywhere you want.”

She brushed her lips against his jaw, his neck and lingered on his collarbone while her fingers continued to unbutton his shirt.

“Trust me, I want to.” He pulled her closer to him and pressed his lips gently on hers. “But we should wait for a bit. If that’s okay.”

Arya lifted her head to stare at his eyes, understanding the unspoken message behind them. She gave him a soft peck on the lips, her hand lifting to cup the side of his face, her thumb brushing his cheek.

“Of course, it’s okay,” she whispered. “I’m here whenever you’re ready, Gendry.”

Afterwards, Arya would be careful where to draw the line with him, especially in the evenings just before they went to bed. He didn’t stop her from kissing her whenever she wanted to though, and sometimes, she would give him soft, taunting kisses that were designed to see if he was willing to yield.

Sometimes Gendry did.

With a sharp intake of breath, he would grip her hips and tug her against him as he slanted his mouth over hers, deepening the kiss with as much fervour as she did. But then he would stop, his frosty-blue eyes sparkling, knowing her own grey ones demanded the same.

Gendry would lean forward until they were brow-to-brow and would say, his voice low, “Soon, Arya. I promise.”

And she’d whisper “I love you” to him and would watch as his eyes softened, his mouth echoing the same words with a gentleness that made her heart ache with longing.

So, Arya would kiss him gently and would assure him that she meant every word. That he mattered so much to her. That no matter how long it took, she would always be there, waiting for him. Loving him. And she would never let him go.

**~**

It was midmorning of the first week of their travels and the dense forest had given way to a clearing where an encampment of travelling merchants were situated along the banks of the Blackwater tributary, watering their horses. Like them, they were heading towards the town of Stoney Sept.

Eddard’s last clue pointed to an unnamed foreign wandmaker who had been the last owner of the Valyrian wand before it somehow ended up with the Red Woman. Their best bet was hearing any news of the follower of R’hllor in one of the taverns at the town.

Arya spotted the town’s namesake old sept on the hill above the holdfast of grey stone just below the main market square. Her and Gendry followed the way towards the old sept to what looked like a rundown alehouse called the Peach.

It was as crowded as Arya had expected. She took in the details of the taproom by instinct and training while she made her way to a table near a cluster of people whom they saw back at the clearing. While she listened to their conversation, Gendry made his way to the bar where the owner, a large-breasted woman called Tansy looked him up and down as if he was some fascinating magical creature from beyond the Wall. She waved her wand, setting two pints of ale on the front counter.

Gendry murmured a thanks as he sipped all the while contemplating on what to order for supper. The woman glanced between Gendry and the young woman he left behind on the table and said, “We got nice beds up here at the Peach.” Gendry looked back at her a little confused. “You two gonna be needing one for the night, I presume?”

“That would be appreciated, thank you,” Gendry responded, surprised at the woman’s foresight.

“Got the perfect one,” Tansy continued. “Fresh spread, queen-sized, and it’s more than enough space for your tumblings.”

Gendry almost choked as he coughed unceremoniously, trying to keep his dignity as his eyes watered and his lungs almost gave out. The witch let out a booming, throaty chuckle.

“I’ll get you the specials for dinner,” Tansy said as she gave Gendry a hearty pat on the back. She winked. “The lovely lady will like that.”

Gendry plunked down across from Arya, who didn’t so much as look at him. She took a sip of the ale while she continued to watch the others. So many calculating thoughts swirled beneath her pale face. Part of her wondered if any of these people here would recognise her without her pink hair while another dreaded that no one would have the information that they were looking for.

She finally glanced at Gendry who was accepting the food from a strikingly beautiful young woman with hair as black as coal and eyes as blue as Gendry’s.

“Don’t you look quite roguish,” she commented, her eyes sparkling as they traced the scar lines on Gendry’s face. Arya looked over at Gendry who only scowled at the woman’s advances.

“Thanks,” he said curtly.

“Any time,” she said with a wink as she left without as much as a glance at Arya. Arya laughed at his expression.

“Don’t be looking so glum, Waters,” Arya said, reaching for the bread. “She was just flirting with you.”

“I don’t like it.”

Arya chuckled. They were halfway through their meal when particular words stood out from the conversation on the table behind them. She leaned back casually in her chair and interrupted the group of wizards. “What do you mean by the Ministry doing some screenings?”

A stocky, balding wizard wearing a shaggy leather coat sized up Arya then Gendry who was now alert and listening, then said, “The Minister’s set a decree that all witches and wizards must be screened to determine their blood status. Apparently, they’ve sent out their sniffer wizards to do the job.”

Gendry and Arya exchanged a look. “Sniffer wizards?”

Another person at the table – an older, bearded wizard – said, “Nasty bugger’s at the head of it. Acting like some dog sniffing you out with a bit of fear and magic and then goes to prick your little finger. You have to pass a purity test or rather. It’ll determine your status within the society or something ludicrous like that.”

“Minister’s lost his damn mind, he has,” said another.

The companions swapped glances, weighing Arya’s appearance and then Gendry’s. He attempted to smile but all of them only looked at him warily.

“Better be careful,” the bearded wizard told Gendry. Arya looked at him then back at the group of wizards.

“Why?”

“Sniffer knows a while away if you’re what they’re looking for,” the balding wizard replied.

As he said it, the front doors burst open and a powerful wind gust followed a huge, horrifyingly familiar man inside.

“There’s one right now,” said the balding wizard.

Arya went as still as the leaping trout fountain at the heart of the market square.

“Sandor,” she breathed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Long, long long overdue, thank you for all your patience and your comments and love and kudos and everything! I appreciate you all. This chap was fun but one heck of a challenge. I hope you all enjoyed it! 
> 
> Also, I love the Blackfish on GoT so I couldn't pass up the chance of not including him on here ;D
> 
> I can't wait to hear what you all think on the comments!! <3


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Mild language

Gendry watched in horror as Arya rose and stalked towards the towering Auror, her hair turned bright orange in fury.

“You son of a bitch,” she said to Clegane who regarded her with unreadable eyes. When Sandor said nothing, her mouth tightened, and she pulled out her wand and pointed it at him. Gendry was by her side in an instant.

“There’s none of that here, young lady,” said Tansy from the bar, hands on her hips.

“I’m no fucking lady,” Arya responded, her eyes not leaving the Auror. “But I guess you’re a fucking dog.”

Sandor’s eyes narrowed at her, but he didn’t so much as move. Gendry looked between the two of them, his wand half-out of his pocket.

Arya took a step towards the Auror, her wand pointed up towards his face.

“Aren’t you going to say _anything_?”

They stared at each other for a long moment.

“I’ve got nothing to say to you, little girl,” he grunted as he pushed Arya aside and made his way to the bar. He sat down after barking an order of strong ale. Tansy watched the Auror warily as she poured him his drink.

Gendry gripped Arya’s arm before she could so much as take a step towards the Hound.

“You can’t duel him here, Arya,” he whispered.

“Watch me.”

She tried to pull away from his grip, but Gendry was strong. He held her down and turned her completely around to face him.

“Arya,” he pleaded. But Arya was determined – and quick. She wrenched her arm from his grip and now facing Sandor, she uttered a spell, “Stupefy!”

Sandor had anticipated it as he drew back and uttered a defensive charm in time.

“Take this outside!” rang Tansy’s voice as she made her way between the two Aurors, threatening them menacingly with blazing eyes. Some of the patrons looked on, astonished at the strange sight, but no one drew their wands out as they kept their distance.

“You think you can take me down that quick, girl?” Sandor stood up, his menacing scowl and towering height was so frightening that Tansy took a step back.

Arya filled the gap with Gendry right behind her.

“Walk,” she commanded. There was a coldness in Arya’s voice that sent a chill up Gendry’s spine.

Sandor smirked and did as he was told.

It was much darker now since they first arrived at the tavern. The market square now close to empty. But Sandor kept walking and Arya followed from behind, her wand by her side as she glared furiously at the hulking Auror’s back.

Sandor halted by the now-empty clearing they were before and looked over his broad shoulder. There was nothing human in his dark eyes. “If you want to survive this war, you have to do what is necessary.”

“I don’t need to hear your fucking excuses, Clegane,” Arya seethed. “Pull out your damn wand.”

Gendry stood beside Arya, his wand out. He knew how strong Arya was, but Sandor was a powerful wizard. Perhaps they could stand a chance against him if Arya didn’t attack recklessly.

Sandor’s hands stayed still by his sides.

“It’s not safe out here.”

Arya frowned, not understanding.

“We’re not hurting anyone here, Clegane,” she hissed. “Now _pull out your damn wand_.”

He didn’t. Instead, he looked upwards to the cloudy sky. Gendry followed his eyes as it fell on him.

“You’ve got bad blood, boy.”

“Don’t you talk to him like that,” Arya snarled from beside Gendry.

“I’m not here to fight you, Stark,” Sandor said, his eyes still locked on Gendry. “We’re on the same side.”

Arya took a step forward and pointed her wand at him. “Those men inside the inn,” she began. “They know you. They said you were one of their dogs.”

Sandor finally turned to Arya and matched her glare with a steady, unreadable gaze.

Suddenly there was movement. Gendry could hear branches breaking and the rustling of leaves behind them and twisted around to see what looked to be a half-man half-animal emerge from the tree line. He was a large, vicious-looking man with arms like tree trunks and a face with bloodshot eyes, elongated canines and a smirk as evil as his countenance.

Sandor pushed his way between Arya and Gendry, his dark eyes widened in surprise.

“Brother.”

**~**

The Mountain.

Gregor Clegane, he used to be known. Sandor’s older brother. Unlike most werewolves, The Mountain took pleasure in his abilities and savagery when transformed. He was notorious for his particular assault on young children in the hopes of infecting them and raising them to hate wizard-kind – Gendry being one of his victims.

Arya had only ever encountered Gregor once back at the Ministry when she accidentally had a run-in with a Werewolf Capture Unit during one of her jobs in the Riverlands. He looked and smelled about the same; the reek of sweat, dirt and blood of the beastly intruder nearly enough to make her vomit.

He eyed them ravenously. Arya steeled herself from the fear that crept slowly around her. She turned to Gendry who was now breathing heavily as he eyed the monster that had forever cursed his life. She felt his fear, sensed it.

She took a step towards Gendry and slid her fingers in his. They were cold, clammy, but they held on to hers nonetheless. She gave him a quick squeeze. _I won’t let him hurt you_.

“Look what we have here,” The Mountain drawled in what sounded like a rasping bark. “Fresh meat.”

Sandor pulled out his wand and pointed at his brother.

“What are you doing here?” Sandor asked.

The Mountain jerked his chin to the direction of the town where loud screams soon erupted and the sound of an alarm bell from the top of the Old Sept began to ring across the valley. He loosed a low, guttural laugh that made Arya shudder.

“Stay back,” Arya warned the creature, her wand pointed directly at his heart.

“You’re a pretty little thing, aren’t you?” The Mountain said. “I’ll enjoy taking a bite out of you.”

Gendry’s hand tightened around hers, but she kept calm. She squeezed his fingers, reassuring him that she was fine.

“You and your shitty pack making a mess of things, I see,” The Hound said. “Guess we’ll have to get rid of them too.”

“You’re overrun,” The Mountain said. “And those weak humans have nowhere to go but right where I want them. Just like you three.”

He let out a low laugh and soon enough, The Mountain’s companions emerged from around the edge of the clearing and circled them, the light from the concealed moon revealed their snarling, feral faces.

The Mountain’s companions were a mix of Snatchers (bounty hunters formed by the Night King to round up and arrest Muggle-borns and “blood traitors”) and werewolves, judging by the same elongated canines and feral reek.

Arya and Sandor had faced more than their fair share of dark wizards and witches in their time and many of those had them outnumbered. Snatchers weren’t particularly gifted in the magical arts, that much Arya knew, and the werewolves usually preferred physical attacks as opposed to magic.

Arya and Gendry had encountered a few Snatchers on their way to the Stoney Sept and they had been ignominiously defeated, much to Arya’s pleasure and Gendry’s amusement. They knew how to take them down.

It was The Mountain that they needed to watch out for. He was a powerful wizard albeit more savage and uncouth. Nevertheless, he could hold himself in a duel. Sandor would have to take care of him until her and Gendry had gotten rid of the others.

Arya counted six including The Mountain. Her and Sandor had given each other the signal between them, and she squeezed Gendry’s fingers once, twice, to let him know. He gave her a subtle nod, acknowledging that he understood.

She let go of Gendry’s hand and took a step forward, capturing the hulking creature’s attention.

“You’re not going to get away this time,” she told him with a deathly voice. Sandor took a step forward.

“I’m going to enjoy this,” Sandor said. The Mountain didn’t have time to realise what they had intended to do as Arya whipped around to Gendry, her wand pointed directly at him before shouting, “_Bombarda Maxima!”_

**~**

Gendry disapparated in perfect timing with Arya’s diversion, taking down two Snatchers along the way. He couldn’t see Arya behind the dust cloud and rocks, but he knew she was already taking out the others.

Gendry could see Sandor and The Mountain duelling a little closer to the edge of the clearing, their loud rasping voices echoed across the clearing as they shouted the incantations.

A stupefied body fell from across from him followed by the loud, cracking sound of Arya apparating and disapparating. Gendry blocked a spell that came his way and uttered an incantation that removed the wand from one of the Snatcher’s hands. He paralysed him with The Full Body-Bind before Arya appeared beside him.

She had a small gash on her forehead, but she waved him off. They turned around and noticed that Sandor and The Mountain had disappeared from the clearing. They didn’t have time to think about where they went as the screams of the people got louder. They sprinted back towards the town.

Some buildings in the market square were up in flames. Some of The Mountain’s men were running in and out of homes, dragging wizards and witches by their clothes and tying them up by the leaping trout fountain in the middle of the town.

Gendry could see a commotion up on the old sept that overlooked the village and knew that it had to be the brothers.

“I’ll go,” Arya told him. “You stay and help the others.”

Gendry nodded. “Be careful.” He quickly kissed her forehead before she disapparated from sight.

Gendry whirled towards the Snatcher that emerged from a house and stupefied him. He ran to take his wand before rushing down the narrow alley leading up to the main courtyard and apparated on the roof of the Peach where he counted how many were left.

One guarded the group of tied up wizards and witches while another held Tansy, her hand clutching the arm that had her by her hair. While she was half-dragged towards the others, she caught Gendry’s eyes watching from the shadows of the roof.

She gestured with her hand that wasn’t holding her attacker. Five.

Two here and two more somewhere else. Gendry had already taken out one. He lifted the stolen Snatcher’s wand to show Tansy before he leapt from the roof and immobilised the man that held her before tossing the wand to her. She caught it in mid-air.

Gendry lost the element of surprise after that with the other Snatcher meeting him in a fierce duel. Sweat gathered on his brow as he deflected and attacked, all the while keeping an eye out for the other two who were yet to emerge.

Tansy had taken to freeing the other villagers and they took off, some disapparating, while others rushing back to their homes to make sure their loved ones were okay.

A sudden white flash appeared behind Gendry and knocked down his opponent when he heard Arya scream his name and he was suddenly caught up in a swirl of white light and black smoke.

It was all a giant blur as Gendry tried to hold on to anything as Sandor and The Mountain fought each other mid-air as they flew around with him caught in the middle. He couldn’t apparate, afraid that he might take one of them with him and get splinched in the process.

The two brothers fought for purchase as they snarled and tried to hold each other by the throat and arms, vying to get the upper hand. The Mountain finally noticed Gendry clutching at their entwined forms and without hesitation, he hit Sandor’s head with his own and clutched Gendry’s neck and flew to the middle of the courtyard holding him captive.

Gendry could see Arya with her wand out, a fierce scowl coupled with genuine fear etched on her face as she beheld him in The Mountain’s arms.

“Give it up, witch,” The Mountain spat. “Or I’ll wring his little neck.”

Gendry could feel his wand digging on the side of his neck as he stood facing Arya and Sandor.

“Let him go or I’ll wring yours,” Arya threatened, her voice cold, unforgiving.

The Mountain sniffed and forcefully turned Gendry around so he could inspect his face. A wicked smirk formed on his lips upon seeing the scars on his face.

“Looks like I won’t be breaking any necks after all,” The Mountain said to Arya and Sandor before turning back to Gendry. “You and I are eating well tonight.”

Gendry’s heart almost stopped, and his blood turned cold as he looked up at where The Mountain was watching. The grey clouds were pushed aside by a cold, Northern breeze and revealed the very thing that Gendry feared the most.

A full moon.

**~**

She hadn’t taken notice. And neither had Gendry. The weeks and days they spent together had been so pleasant and invigorating and so diverting from the chaos of what went on around them that they both forgot to keep track of the month.

Gendry hadn’t shown signs of his usual illness the week before and she wondered if it had anything to do with their spending time together. Jon had recommended her some books on lycanthropy that theorised on an easier transformation for a werewolf if it was surrounded by care, attention, and that which the werewolf, in human form, sought the most.

Arya knew how much she meant to Gendry, how much he loved her, but perhaps she didn’t know just how much if even he hadn’t shown any signs of discomfort leading up to his transformation.

She wished she had been more aware though. Because now, with the full moon perched ominously above their heads, Arya could only watch in horror as Gendry, now on the ground, began to slowly transform into the creature that he hated the most.

“Fuck,” Sandor cursed beside her as he prepared to do a full-body binding spell on his brother who looked to grow even taller and bigger as he let himself transform into the hideous bloodthirsty beast he had nurtured all his life.

“Get him out of here, Stark,” he commanded Arya and without a second thought, Arya sprinted towards Gendry and apparated them both back to the clearing where he lay writhing in pain as he struggled against the affliction.

“Gendry, look at me,” she called to him as his figure began to shake and his legs began to lengthen and his fingers began to grow, the nails sharpening to claws.

Her heart wrenched at the sound of him groaning in pain as his body began to grow and transform. Arya could only watch him, tears filling her eyes as she called his name over and over.

Soon, there was no more of Gendry. Instead, before her was his werewolf form: a thin, disfigured and almost emaciated creature with long limbs and a hunched back that cowered and whimpered in front of her.

Arya gathered courage and put her wand aside, taking a step towards him.

“Gendry,” she said. “It’s me, Arya.”

She willed for him to look at her, to understand her. She reached out her hand, tentatively approaching him. “Gendry, it’s me.”

She stopped a few feet away, watching him breathe. The creature lifted its eyes and watched Arya, as if it was trying to place her.

She locked eyes with him, the light-blue eyes now replaced with sad yellow ones. “Gendry,” she called out one more time. She had to reach him. She knew he was in there. He had to be.

The creature held her gaze for a long moment and Arya thought that perhaps she was getting through to his humanity…but then his eyes changed and under the bright, full moon, Gendry howled.

Arya took a step back, the loud sound caught her by surprise. It was Gendry no longer as she watched him crawl towards her on all fours, snarling.

Arya was paralysed. She didn’t want to hurt him, she couldn’t. But if she didn’t move, he would, and he would kill her too.

Try as she might, but she simply couldn’t muster the energy to move. Her arms lay limp on her side as she watched the creature that had taken over the person whom she loved with her entire being approach her with its sharp claws raised to maim her.

A second before she came to her senses to dodge the attack, a loud squawking erupted from above them and Arya looked up to see a grey-white shape dive straight towards Gendry’s werewolf form.

“Nymeria!”

The owl swooped in, its talons scratching at the werewolf’s face. It growled as it tried to reach up and grab the bird, but Nymeria was too quick. It flew fast and high before swooping right back in, scratching and nipping the creature.

Arya wanted to call Nymeria off to stop her from hurting him, but she knew that as soon as she did, it would come after her.

Arya pointed her wand at Gendry, gathering her full strength to incapacitate him with a full-body binding spell. Nymeria swooped down again and this time Gendry caught a part of her wing with his teeth. The owl went down beside Arya, and she steeled herself from looking at Nymeria before uttering the incantation, “_Petrificus totalus!”_

**~**

Gendry awoke on a queen-sized featherbed. The candlelight burned low on the bedside table beside him as he tried to adjust his eyes. He felt pain all over his body, his face, his limbs. He reached up to touch his face, feeling the remnants of what felt like the sting of a thousand knife cuts.

Hand shaking and breath uneven, he watched as the door to the room opened to reveal Arya.

“Hey,” she said, approaching him with a relieved smile on her face. Gendry frowned up at her, struggling to remember what happened the night before.

“Where’s Sandor?” he asked. “And The Mountain?”

Arya reached out to caress his cheek. She let her hand rest there, her thumb gently caressing the side of his face.

“We managed to hold them off long enough for the Ministry to send in assistance,” she replied.

“The Ministry’s here?”

Arya let out a small laugh. “The Night King may have control of the Ministry but the Lannisters have a special aversion to The Mountain. Sandor and I managed to hold him down long enough for him to be captured.”

Gendry frowned. “What about me? How am I still here?”

Arya leaned forward to brush her lips against his.

“Tansy wanted to thank you for helping them,” she said, gently threading her fingers through his hair. “She kept us hidden long enough for the others to leave.”

Gendry sifted through all Arya had told him, all the while unable to get rid of this feeling of dread at the pit of his stomach.

“Did I…hurt you?” His voice was almost a whisper and he couldn’t bring himself to look at her.

“No,” she said, almost too quickly and Gendry lifted his eyes to hers.

“Arya,” he pleaded.

“It was only a scratch,” she told him, and the pain in his eyes made her say, “but it was only because you’re too adorable even as an incapacitated werewolf.”

Gendry’s face paled and Arya reached out to hold his head between her hands. “I’m fine, Gendry,” she assured him.

“You promise?’

“I do.”

Gendry wasn’t convinced but he heaved a relieved sigh anyway. He turned his face so he could kiss the inside of her palms.

“Did I hurt anyone else?”

Arya’s brows furrowed for a quick second before deciding to just tell him.

“Nymeria came in and had a go at you,” she said with a small smile. “Didn’t know how the girl knew but she did. She was trying to protect me and well, you got a hold of her wing. It’s fine though. She’ll live.”

Gendry shook his head, completely and utterly anguished at the thought of having hurt Arya’s beloved owl who had tried to help her from him. He fought to keep still from the emotions that roiled. Anger, hate, and frustration all welled up inside him at the thought of having put even a single scratch on Arya.

He scrunched his face and threw the covers off his body, uncaring that he hadn’t a single article of clothing on his body.

“Gendry!”

He ignored her as he tried to get up, the remnants of his painful transformation making a comeback as it got hold of his legs and he stumbled forward and onto the hard wood floor.

Arya was there in an instant, a hand on his back and another on his bare chest as she supported him.

“What do you think you’re doing!” she cried. Gendry couldn’t look at her. He couldn’t, _wouldn’t_ be the reason for her pain, for her suffering. Not again.

“I have to go,” he told her, trying but failing to rise on his legs by himself. Arya wrapped an arm around his back and helped him get up only to be pushed back down on the bed.

“You’re not going anywhere but right back on this bed, Gendry Waters,” she told him firmly.

“Arya, I- “

Her mouth was on him before he could register what was happening. Her lips were firm but gentle, soothing him as she took his lower lip between her own. Arya had him pushed back a little further down the bed, a hand on the side of his face, holding him to her while the other rested on his shoulder.

Gendry felt his anguish and his pain of hurting her disappear as her lips moved more boldly over his, nipping and coaxing. Her hand moved down to his chest, gently caressing his heated skin as she settled on his lap.

Gendry groaned. Only when Arya moved her hips against his own, his mouth swallowing her moans did he realise how naked he really was.

“Arya,” he said between kisses.

“Mm.”

“I- we can’t.”

“Yes, we can,” she told him, her hands moving to unbutton her blouse.

“Arya,” he said more firmly, reaching between them to stop her mid-unbuttoning. Arya leaned her head forward so they rested on his shoulder.

“I want you,” he heard her whisper. “Please let me have you.”

Gendry smiled, the thought of this beautiful, fierce witch wanting him in all of his dangerous, unworthy self had him so intoxicated. How could he deny her when he loved her so much? When _she_ loved him so much?

“Tell me every terrible thing you ever did,” she said, “and let me love you anyway.” Arya lifted her head from his shoulder. She met eyes of sapphire. “Please, Gendry.”

Gendry wanted to give himself to her. He wanted to taste her and pleasure her. He wanted her to know that every single part of him loved her so much that he felt like he would combust.

Perhaps it was worth it. To let himself be loved by her.

She peered into his eyes, scanning them. He saw the range of emotions within them. Understood that she meant every word. Even close to death, even when he had hurt her and Nymeria, even when he had nothing to offer her but his simple love and the danger that came with being with him.

She wanted him.

Just as much as he wanted her.

He leaned her forehead so they touched hers, her eyes closing.

She was worth it. All of it was worth it.

“Marry me,” he whispered.

For her. Only for her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry for this super late update but I hope you all enjoy it! Thank you all also for the wonderful comments you've left on the previous chapter. Seriously, I don't deserve such love but thank you so so much anyway and truly, I'm just so glad that you are all enjoying this story as much as I enjoy writing it. 
> 
> Can't wait to hear what you all think about this one! We're getting so close to the end too and our two lovers will get the happy ending they deserve...right?
> 
> ps. I'm on tumblr (stagaawolf) if you want to chat with me there too about all things gendrya and this fic too! I sometimes do some edits to accompany this as well there xxx
> 
> pps. Oh, and a quick note that I sometimes update previous chapters for inconsistencies and/or grammatical errors just in case you all freak out at some of the changes (I'm just terrible at keeping track of timelines, descriptors, etc.)


	10. Chapter 10

“Marry me,” he whispered.

Arya thought she didn’t hear him correctly at first, but when he uttered the words again, his voice hoarse and low in complete sincerity, she knew that she hadn’t mistaken it.

“You want to marry me?” she whispered, almost as if she couldn’t believe it. Never once in her life did Arya believe that she would every marry. Not that she had any lack of suitors per se, she just simply believed that she wasn’t destined to love someone so absolutely as to make herself commit to being with them for the rest of her life.

Arya had scoffed at the notion of having someone – a complete stranger, nonetheless – be one’s entire world. She recalled how utterly obnoxious she was about it and she made certain that her siblings got the brunt of her contempt for their seemingly ridiculous romances.

But looking at Gendry, with his eyes full of complete awe and wonder and pure and selfless love at her, she finally understood.

Gendry wasn’t her whole world. He was her entire universe.

And no evil wizards or full-moon curses could ever tear them apart.

Not now. Not ever.

Gendry reached up to tuck a loose her behind her ear and said, “Marry me, Arya. Be my wife. If you’ll have me.”

She could see the struggle that lay within his eyes at his last request. She knew how pained he must be to ask her to share his cursed, dangerous life with her.

But she couldn’t think of anything worthier than spending her life with Gendry. Loving him, having him all for herself. Despite it all.

Before any other doubts clouded Gendry’s thoughts, Arya leaned forward and brushed her lips against his.

“I’ll have you, Gendry Waters,” she whispered against his lips. “I’ll have you and I’ll have you tonight.”

Gendry let out a low laugh and touched his forehead against hers.

“You want to get married tonight?” he asked incredulously. “Right here? In this town?”

Arya kissed him again, softly, yearningly.

“Right here in this town,” she repeated. Then she leaned back, her eyes glistening with mischievous delight.

“So, get up and get dressed,” she told him, as she moved off of him and buttoned up her own shirt. “There’s a clump of Weirwood trees just outside of town. I’ll get us an officiant and you pick a tree.”

Arya gave him a quick peck on the lips before striding off, leaving her dumbfounded, lovestruck betrothed behind.

**~**

It was as if his horrid transformation and the excruciating aftermath of it hadn’t just occurred mere hours ago when Gendry took in Arya’s grinning face as she walked towards him underneath the canopy of burnt-orange leaves of the weirwood tree.

When Arya told Tansy of their plans to get married that evening, the witch could not be more ecstatic. She clapped her hands to summon Bella whom she ordered to rouse the Septon from his sleep while she rushed to find a dress for Arya to wear.

“I really don’t care what I wear, Tansy,” Arya told the older witch, but she simply waved a hand.

“Nonsense,” she said, moving around Arya to take her coat off. “I won’t let you wear bloodied and torn clothes for your wedding, you can count on that. Now be a good girl and put that on.”

Gendry had been leaning on a walking stick while he waited for her, afraid that his unsteady knees would buckle and falter when he needed them not to. But when Arya finally appeared, her arm looped against Tansy’s and a wide smile on her face, he dropped the stick and stared at her as if he were hypnotised by the _amortentia_ spell.

When they said the words to each other and Tansy and the few people she managed to round up that evening to witness their union had clapped and hooted for them, they strode back to the inn hand-in-hand and up the stairs to their room.

Tansy had replaced the old sheets with fresh ones, placed dipped sandalwood incense sticks on the bedside table and stoked a low fire now burning in the hearth.

If they had been nothing but soft and gentle with each other at the ceremony, in the confines of their bedroom, they were nothing but.

Arya pulled him down to her level to kiss him and he more than willingly returned the kiss with the same fervour. They didn’t break apart, not once, desperate to touch each other, as her fingers went to the buckles of his pants while his own moved to unzip her dress.

“I’ve never seen you in a dress before,” he murmured against her lips.

“It looks stupid doesn’t it? With all these acorns,” she said as she tossed the belt of his pants on the floor and moved to unbutton his shirt.

“Not at all.” He moved his lips to her cheek then to her jaw, all the while nipping, kissing, nuzzling. “You are so beautiful.”

Arya hummed as he let his lips glide over her neck and her collarbone, breathing her in, tasting her. She peeled off his shirt and he hissed as she ran her fingers across his chest, feeling the cords of muscles there.

He couldn’t believe that this woman right here in his arms was his _wife_. Of all his long, lonely years and of believing that he would never find someone to love or have someone to love him and accept him for who he was, here was Arya Stark, in all her brilliant, pure-blooded, beautiful self, committing herself entirely to him.

Perhaps no one would believe him, but he didn’t care. _He_ was the luckiest man in the entire wizarding realm.

Gendry brushed his mouth against hers and Arya let out a small sound before she pushed up on her toes, grabbed his neck and pulled him down to her. He broke the kiss to help her lift her dress over her head before he kissed her again, his tongue meeting hers, hungry and searching.

They began to move towards the bed, Arya undoing her undergarments as she went. He felt her hands slide from his chest down to his pants and she stroked him through the material. Gendry groaned into her mouth.

Time spun out, and there was only Arya in his arms. The moment the back of his knees hit the bed, Arya reached up and pushed him on it, his breathing hard as he watched her from where he lay.

His mouth went dry as he took her in, the temptation to claim her was so fierce that he tried to pull her against him so he could toss her on her back and have his way with her. But Arya was much quicker.

She halted him with a hand on his chest before gesturing to his pants.

“Take them off,” she commanded him.

When he had moved a bit further up the bed, his back resting on the mountain of pillows, Arya crawled up to him and straddled him, her fingers digging into his shoulders as she rose over him and found his mouth in a plundering kiss.

With a final whisper that she loved him and him her, Arya shifted her hips and Gendry groaned at the feeling of finally having her.

**~**

Sometimes, Arya wanted Gendry to love her roughly on the grass or against the bed post inside their tent, and sometimes she wanted him softly on their bed where they could hold each other afterwards until they both drifted off to a dreamless sleep and she would awaken to the sound of her soft-snoring husband.

She loved tracing the scars on his face with her fingers, lightly following the lines that marred his handsome face. He didn’t say a word if he had noticed what she felt about them; how she wished that she could cast a simple charm and they would disappear and would never remind him of his pain ever again. Instead, Gendry would kiss her knuckles and nuzzle against her cheek and whisper, “All of this is worth it for you” and she would forget everything but him; grateful that he was alive, and she could love him anew every morning.

It was nothing short of euphoric.

Two weeks after they’ve left the town of Stoney Sept, they trudged slowly along the River Road until they came upon a fork that led towards a town called Tumbleton, just on the edge of the Kingswood.

The Red Woman was apparently last seen accompanying a band of mercenary wizards whose allegiance Arya and Gendry were unsure of.

“You think she’ll give us the wand if we ask her for it?” Arya asked out loud, hoping the stupidly obvious answer would somehow help them both figure out exactly how they were going to extract it from her without starting a fight.

If the rumours were true of her being with other wizards, Arya knew they were grossly outnumbered and wouldn’t come out of there alive.

She bit her lip as she thought over Jon and Eddard’s notes for anything on the Red Woman but apart from the torn page that Jon had showed her, she had nothing.

Gendry clutched her hand in his and his wand on the other, flicking and swishing it as he mumbled a few spells under his breath. The long journey on foot allowed him to work on learning a few more spells whilst Arya spent most of her time either poring over the notes her father had left behind or luring Gendry into some form of pleasurable distraction whenever she caught him with his reading glasses while he rummaged through his spell books. It should be a crime against the wizarding realm to have someone look so ruggedly handsome as Gendry effortlessly was.

Nymeria was their only connection to the Brotherhood. The owl flew far and wide across the realm, carrying important messages from the scattered members of the Brotherhood.

Jon had safely arrived in Essos and have met his distant relative, Daenerys Targaryen, in the ancient city of Astapor. Arya’s heard of Daenerys before. People in the East had worshipped the powerful witch for her revolutionary amendments to their rather draconian civil laws and Arya couldn’t deny her own admiration for the woman.

“Do you know that she rides dragons?” she told Gendry one evening after she read Jon’s letter.

“Very impressive,” he replied, amused at Arya’s expression more than anything.

Rumour has it that Daenerys was protected by a Ridgeback and an Antipodean Opaleye that she named after her brothers, and that she rode a Horntail she had named after a deceased lover. If Gendry had prematurely left her (and gods forbid, he wouldn’t!) Arya aspired to be as powerfully unapologetic as the Targaryen witch.

Davos’ letters were both encouraging and alarming in their frequency and length. During the first few weeks of their journey, Davos had been a little more liberal in sharing information regarding Cersei’s oppressive control in Winterfell but lately, they’ve been less frequent and more cryptic.

Though Gendry had to resort to charming a few of the replies in an attempt to reveal their meanings, a disturbing pattern as to their contents soon emerged: Cersei ordered, and everybody obeyed. And those who didn’t would find themselves severely punished.

Gendry had looked over at Arya worriedly upon receiving this information knowing that her brother was one of the students there, but Arya just shrugged.

“Rickon’s a fighter,” was all she said, and Gendry left it at that. She didn’t need another thing to worry about.

The sleepy town of Tumbleton was celebrating All Hallows’ Eve when Gendry and Arya arrived just before midnight. The fall leaves in their golden browns, reds and crisp oranges covered the cobblestone footpaths and the gables of the neatly arranged houses that lined the main square.

Spooky cauldron kettles and floating pumpkin heads decorated every second house and colourful lights and ghostly tickertapes were strewn across the dim lamp posts.

Apart from the peaceful hum of the quiet town, there was something in the air that didn’t feel right to both Gendry and Arya. She couldn’t quite get a grip on what exactly as she laced her fingers between his.

They walked around town, visiting various establishments that were opened late, hoping to catch a glimpse of the Red Woman or at least some word about her, but their mission grew frustratingly futile the deeper the night got.

That was until they made their way past a cemetery and Arya spotted the unmissable red colouring amidst a sea of grey gravestones.

She was alone.

Gendry and Arya shared a look and, with their wands out, they slowly approached.

Crunching leaves gave them away, Arya knew, but it didn’t seem to matter since the closer they got to the Red Woman, the more obvious it was that she had been watching them the entire time.

Arya squeezed Gendry’s hands once, twice, assuring him of her presence and he squeezed back in response.

The Red Woman regarded both of them with unreadable eyes before she fixed her gaze on Arya and said, “I’ve been waiting for you.”

Arya narrowed her eyes at her. “You have?”

“Yes,” she replied. Arya surveyed the witch, but nothing seemed amiss. Apart from the dress that clung to her form as if it was melded into her skin, she had only a ruby necklace around her neck and nothing else. Not a bag or a cloak that could be used for storing or concealing. If she had the Valyrian Wand somewhere in her possession, Arya was scant to know where it could be.

Arya ventured, “We came because we need your help.”

“I know you are looking for the Valyrian Wand and I am here to tell you that I do not have it,” the Red Woman replied. Arya was taken aback in surprise. She turned to Gendry and his eyes conveyed the same disappointment that she felt.

“You couldn’t possibly be waiting for me just to tell me that though, did you?”

Arya could not accept it. She would not. If Jon’s clues pointed to this woman as the source of the weapon to defeat the Night King, then it had to be. She would not accept anything else. Not after everything they’ve been through.

“All magic must serve,” the Red Woman said. “And it will serve in its own time.”

**~**

Gendry could see the ire that emanated from his wife, but he didn’t dare try to hold her back as she took a step towards Melisandre. He remembered her name, even if he didn’t want to remember anything else.

“Well, the time is fucking _now_,” Arya spat. “The Night King’s army is growing every day and every single witch or wizard who does not yield to his control either disappear or end up dead. This weapon is the only thing that will defeat him. Don’t you understand?”

“I am on the side of those who fight for the living,” Melisandre replied.

This time, Gendry spoke, “We are on that side too. Look, all we need is information. If you have anything on its whereabouts or how we can get it – that’s all we ask.”

For a long time, it seemed like the Red Woman wasn’t going to say anything, but then she closed the gap between her and Arya, her steps light, almost as if she glided to her. The witch lifted Arya’s chin with her fingers and stared deep in her eyes.

“Your wand will close many eyes,” the witch said. “But this wand will only close only one.” Gendry saw Arya flinch when the Red Woman finally looked away. “Help will always be given at Winterfell to those who ask for it. Nowhere else.”

And before either of them could say anything else, the Red Woman closed her eyes and disappeared with the wind.

**~**

Gendry and Arya abandoned the need for secrecy when they flew to the Brotherhood’s secret location in the Stormlands via their brooms.

There was no sense in mulling over the Red Woman’s cryptic words when every day solidified the Night King’s control over the realm. It was only a matter of time before he acted, and the Brotherhood needed to be as prepared as they could when he did.

The few nights between their travels provided the relief they needed from the toll of flying. And Gendry took the opportunity in-between their lovemaking to confide to Arya about another thing that had been on his mind since the day they got married.

Gendry laid on her chest, breathing heavily, as he tried to gather enough strength to lift himself off of her. But when he felt her fingers thread through his sweat-damp hair over and over, he decided that a few more moments wrapped in her arms, touching her skin, breathing her in, wouldn’t hurt.

“For a timid werewolf, you can really move,” he heard her say, and a loud laugh escaped his lips.

“It isn’t hard when you keep making those noises,” he teased, lifting his head a fraction to kiss the skin between her breasts. One of her hands moved to his back to trace idle marks across the grooves of muscle there.

When he finally found the strength to sit up, the blanket sliding from him, he propped himself on his elbows and kissed her deeply. Her hands cupped the sides of his face, holding him to her. He loved it when he pulled back and it would take her a second longer to open her eyes.

“You look like you want to say something,” she said, and he leaned down to capture her lips again before he propped himself next to her. She turned towards him; her hands curled by her chest. He traced the smooth skin of her arms and watched her watch him, completely and utterly smitten.

“I wanted to talk about us,” he began.

“My favourite thing to talk about apart from comparing offensive spells,” she said with a wink.

Gendry scrubbed at his face. “We’ve been married a few weeks now, Arya, and I realised that we haven’t really discussed us being a bit more…careful.”

Arya’s brows furrowed, clearly a bit confused as to what he meant.

“I mean with this,” he said, gesturing to their naked bodies that faced each other.

“Oh, you mean your spilling your se- “

“Yes, that,” he said, flushing a bright pink that could rival Arya’s hair. “I don’t think we’ve really been careful with it and I just wanted to make sure that we are. Moving forward.”

“Does it really matter?” she asked, reaching out to intertwine their hands. “We’re married anyway. If you knock me up, then you knock me up.”

Gendry grimaced.

“But that’s what we’re trying to avoid, right?”

“I’m not avoiding that at all.”

Gendry gaped. “You’re not?”

“Did you want me to?”

Gendry didn’t know what to say. He figured that Arya would at least have given thought about their precarious situation especially involving children but judging by the way her brows are furrowed almost angrily, perhaps she hadn’t really.

He lifted their entwined hands up to his lips and kissed the back of hers.

“Lycanthropy is a serious condition,” he said. “It can be passed down to one’s children very easily, that’s why most werewolves would rather die than become one. I don’t want our child to share that same fate.”

Arya was silent as she contemplated his words. And at that moment he felt deeply angered at himself.

Arya was young. How could he not think that she might want children of her own someday? It broke him to even think about her having children with someone else that wasn’t him, and perhaps it was his selfishness for wanting her so much that he had just taken away her choice to have her own children, and for a brief second he felt ashamed.

“Hey,” he heard her say, breaking him from his thoughts. “Look at me.”

He did…and saw nothing there but pure, unconditional love all reserved for him.

“If you want us to be careful, then we’ll be careful,” she said. She shuffled closer to gently kiss him on the lips. She lingered, their lips still touching, amused eyes on his. “It’s just a shame that we won’t get to have the most adorable baby with their father’s deep-blue eyes.”

Gendry huffed a quiet laugh before pushing her back on the bed, ready to ravish her again wholly but this time, a little more carefully.

**~**

A month after their arrival at the Brotherhood’s headquarters in Storm’s End, Bran went into a trance and foretold a chilling prophecy that no one else heard apart from Arya, "The battle will begin and will end at Winterfell. The one with the many faces will destroy him but it will come at a heavy cost."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so so so much for bearing with me. One last chapter to go, can't believe this story is wrapping up already! Can't wait to hear your thoughts on this. I didn't want to over-complicate things with the narrative thread so hopefully it's not too confusing. Let me know if there's some parts that are! Hope you enjoyed our adorable married gendrya though. They're the core of this story after all <3
> 
> Thank you all for your kudos and comments - I read and adore and am encouraged to write by every single one of them.


	11. Chapter 11

There was an unmistakable chill that permeated the air. Every witch and wizard from all parts of the Seven Realms of the Wizarding World could feel it in their shivering bones as they watched the dark-grey clouds shroud the sunlight and suck up every inch of warmth as it formed and billowed across the vast expanse of the sky.

A gathering of witches and wizards, formed by the dark wizard, had culminated just outside the lands Beyond the Wall. Here – in the copse of trees just past the hulking mass of ice that housed every known dark witch and wizard – was where the Night King began his first attack.

With not a single one of his followers brandishing their wands, he unleashed a spell so powerful that it emitted a sound as frightening as that of a mighty, screeching dragon of the ancient world.

The Wall, in all its horrific glory and stature, had fallen.

The Ministry of Magic followed soon after. With the Wall destroyed and its incarcerated dark witches and wizards now freed, the Night King’s power continued to grow. The Tyrells, who once had sided with them, had attempted to thwart the enemy through a coup d’état, but it was too late. The killing curse, one of three of the forbidden spells in the Wizarding realm, had spared none in its wake.

Cersei Lannister remained the Headmistress of Winterfell and had subdued all students and teachers under her command and will. The Freys had taken the Tullys as hostage and kept them in dark, damp cells under the great manor owned by Walder Frey, the patriarch of the conniving, disreputable family.

Ramsay Bolton had murdered his own father during the coup d’état at the Ministry and led his bloodthirsty Sniffers and Snatchers all across the realm, hunting down Muggle-borns and half-bloods and disgraceful pure-bloods who attempted to harbour them.

The Night King’s followers grew and grew every day whilst the Brotherhood without Banners, the only resistance that were bent on stopping them were all branded as traitors to the realm; their faces plastered on every wanted poster across the entire wizarding world.

All that were left remained in hiding at the safehouse in the Stormlands: Brienne, Podrick, Catelyn, Sansa, Bran, Gendry and Arya. Tormund was still on the run and Sandor had disappeared without a trace.

With Cersei watching, Davos and Meera were unable to flee and thus remained in Winterfell. Nevertheless, they continued their efforts to resist as quietly and as safely as they possibly could inside the castle walls. Rickon Stark remained under Davos’ watchful eye and together, the three trained other students in the Defence Against the Dark Arts and their numbers grew daily even if none of them couldn’t shake the overwhelming fear that came with the news of The Wall falling.

The Night King was coming.

Everyone who tried to defy him had either died, disappeared or had turned around and joined his ranks. Even dark and foul creatures had sworn their allegiances to him: wraithlike and unforgiving Others, vile and angry giants from the North, vengeful werewolves under the leadership of the newly-freed The Mountain and even boggarts, loose and uncontrollable as they were.

There was no escaping his evil.

**~**

Storm Cottage, the safe house that once belonged to a wizard of the pure-blooded Baratheon line, housed the rest of the Brotherhood without Banners. The little cottage stood alone on a cliff overlooking the sea.

Even with the wintry squalls and the eerie quietness of the looming danger from the North, every single one of them was grateful that at least, for the time being, they were all safe under one roof.

Arya was immediately charmed by the little house upon their arrival.

“We could live here when all of this is over,” she told Gendry one afternoon just before dusk as they sat side by side outside a small mound of hill by the garden that overlooked the ocean.

“Even if it’s far from your family home?” he asked.

“I’ve always liked the sea,” she said, her eyes never leaving the vast expanse of blue now tinged orange as the sun began to set in the horizon. “And I’ve never really fit in at home. Sansa would’ve inherited the manor anyway after Robb died. She’s much more capable of taking care of it than I am.”

Gendry moved to pull her closer to him, adjusting their position so she could sit between his legs and lean her back against his chest. The warmth of each other’s bodies was soothing. Comforting. He wished he could hold her like this for the rest of his days.

“Do you think Jon will come through?” Arya asked. It’s been two weeks since his last missive and Gendry could tell that it didn’t rest easy with Arya at all. She loved her cousin far more than she ever loved anyone else in her family. She hadn’t been ashamed of telling him that.

And Gendry understood why. During their days in Winterfell, Jon had been his closest friend and confidante. Jon understood and sacrificed so much for him when he needed him the most. He was a true and loyal friend, and Gendry was grateful that Arya admired and respected Jon as much as he did.

It was perhaps their only real regret at their wedding – Jon not being there to celebrate with them.

“Gendry,” she whispered as she turned around in his arms so she could face him fully. “There’s something I need to tell you.”

“What is it?”

Gendry felt his magic stir. A sense of awareness, a warning of some sort that he couldn’t quite place. Arya threaded her fingers in his, her grey eyes soft and adoring and, his breath hitching at his throat, she guided his hands to rest on her stomach.

**~**

When Bran had told Arya of the prophecy regarding the Night King’s fall, Arya was certain that the one whom he referred to as the “one with many faces” was her. As far as the Brotherhood was concerned, Arya was the only Metamorphmagus they knew. Sure, Jon was an Animagus, but he could only transform to that of a ghostly-white dog. He didn’t have the same means to change into any other just like she could.

Arya had confided in Gendry and they knew that if they were to stand a chance against the Night King, they were going to have to find a way to get to Winterfell. Whatever “help” that the Red Woman had talked about and of Bran’s prophesying of the Night King’s downfall in Winterfell, they knew they had to get to the castle one way or another.

The plan was far too risky, but they had no other choice. After Arya and Gendry recounted Bran’s prophecy to the rest of the members of the Brotherhood, they wasted no time in figuring out exactly what their next move would be.

There were no means of getting past the stronghold of Winterfell since no one could apparate inside and the tunnels underground had long been blocked shut.

Brienne suggested they use a vanishing cabinet that was stored in the Room of Requirement, but they had no way of reaching Davos inside without alerting their enemies. Gendry offered to play the part of Robert Baratheon’s long-lost son (Robert Baratheon was Cersei’s now-deceased husband) since they eerily looked far too similar based on an old photograph they found of the man, but Arya shut it down immediately.

“Cersei cared for Robert as much as I cared for the Witch Weekly’s ‘trendiest winter dresses collection’,” Arya said with a roll of her eyes. “She wouldn’t buy it. And even if she did, she’d probably murder you on the spot.”

Gendry couldn’t argue with that.

Every other suggestion was shut down given that none of them were enough to get them past the powerful protective spells around the castle. That was until Arya suggested that she use her skills as a metamorphmagus and transform herself into someone who can go in and out of the school without being questioned.

“You can’t possibly transform into Cersei Lannister!” Sansa said incredulously but Arya only laughed.

“I’m thinking of someone shorter and far more _fun_ than Cersei Lannister.”

The gathered members all looked at each other in confusion before Gendry, upon realising, could only laugh at its brilliance.

“Tyrion Lannister’s name on the front page of The Daily Raven was no mere coincidence, was it?”

“Nope.”

Sansa turned to her sister with a lift of a perfectly sculpted brow. Arya explained, “Tyrion Lannister is a realm-renown drinker. And since he’s not very fond of his tyrannical older sister, I’m sure he’ll be frequenting The Blind Pig.”

“To drown his sorrows in Lobe-Blasters,” Gendry continued for her and she winked at him.

“Exactly. So, all I need to do is go to Winter Town, immobilise the little munchkin, walk through the front doors with his face, get to Davos and Meera, then summon you all inside through the vanishing cabinet.”

“You make it sound so easy, Arya,” Sansa said, her voice low in concern. Arya squeezed her sister’s hand in reassurance.

“Where’s the twin of the one inside the Room of Requirement?” Catelyn asked.

“At the Leaky Crossroads,” Brienne supplied. “Pod and I will secure it.”

Sansa turned to the huge Auror, unconvinced. “And how would you do that, exactly? It’s not like our faces aren’t plastered on every wanted poster all across the realm!”

“It’s true,” Arya said. “But we’ve got no other choice. Besides, we just need to time it right.” Arya turned to Brienne and Podrick. “Meet me at the Leaky Crossroads on Christmas Eve. Gather as many witches and wizards as you can who will fight for our cause. By midnight, I’ll have the passage ready.”

“And what about Cersei Lannister?” Catelyn asked, her worried eyes fixed on her daughter. Arya smirked.

“Oh, she won’t be getting in the way.”

**~**

“You do know that even though we’re married now, you don’t always have to follow me wherever I go,” Arya said with a laugh as she felt Gendry’s presence beside her as she made her way to the portkey that would take her to Winter Town.

“That’s true,” he said as he lugged the rest of her belongings on his back. “But I’m not letting my pregnant wife go on a dangerous mission by herself either.”

Arya reached up to kiss the side of his neck.

“You’re married to an Auror, Waters,” she said. “That’s literally what I do.”

Gendry smiled. “This isn’t a job of an Auror though. This is a job for Arya Stark.” He kneeled down by the bewitched old boot with his arm out, ready to grasp it when she did. “And unfortunately for her,“ he gestured to her stomach “she and the little one will be stuck with me for a while yet.”

Arya’s eyes twinkled in delight as she kneeled beside Gendry, took his hand and with a nod, they both disappeared.

**~**

Immobilising Tyrion Lannister was easier than they had expected. After observing the dwarf’s movements for an entire week, Arya and Gendry made their move. His capture was swift and with Gendry left behind to watch over him at their encampment on the edge of the Wolfswood, Arya, with Tyrion’s face and stature, entered Winterfell without anyone suspecting a single thing.

Gendry didn’t like the dwarf much. He talked too much and demanded a drink even more. Gendry had to resort to a silencing charm but only after the Lannister had divulged all of his woes and his jokes turned inappropriate.

The evening of the day Arya was to use the Vanishing Cabinet to transport their allies into Winterfell, Gendry, from behind the protective charms of their encampment, watched as Sandor Clegane emerged from the thick of the Wolfswood; half-dragging a bound-up wizard behind him. He couldn’t tell who it was given the sack cloth covering his head, but if Sandor Clegane bothered with him, then he must be someone quite important.

Sandor dumped the man by the thick, elongated roots of an old oak tree and tied up his bonds around its trunk before stepping a few metres away to relieve himself.

Last he saw Clegane, he was with Arya in the village of Stoney Sept, fighting his rabid werewolf brother and disappearing when the Ministry had arrived. They haven’t heard from him since.

Glancing at Tyrion who was now asleep, Gendry took out his wand, stepped through the protective charms and disarmed Sandor as soon as he returned.

Sandor held his hands up half-heartedly, a look of annoyance on his face.

“How many times must I fucking tell you and that bloody girl that I’m on your side.”

Gendry approached him warily, his wand still pointed at him. His eyes narrowed on Sandor’s prisoner.

“How do I know that’s not one of those wizards you’re sent to sniff out?”

“Trust me boy, this isn’t some muggle-born wizard for the fucking Ministry.”

“Who is he then?”

With his hands still up, Sandor walked over to his prisoner and with a nod of approval from Gendry, he lifted the sack cloth over his head and revealed a face that Gendry thought he would never see again.

“Theon.”

Gendry loosed a sharp breath, his eyes unbelieving as he regarded the face of the man that he once called one of his best friends. The man whom he trusted. The one who betrayed them all and had cost the life of Robb, his wife and their unborn child.

He thought about Arya and their own unborn child that now grew within her. He thought about the dark and bleak future in this world filled with those whom you thought you could trust but, in the end, would ultimately betray you for glory and power.

All Gendry’s ever wanted his entire life was to belong. To have a family that he could call his own with people who would love and accept him for who and what he was. And he thought he found that with Robb, Theon and Jon. And he did, at least until Theon had betrayed them.

Arya was his family now. And he wasn’t going to risk her life at the expense of this man whom he once called a dear friend.

“Why is he here?” Gendry demanded from Sandor, surprising both the Auror and himself at the contained rage in his voice.

“One of those R’hllor followers told me to get him,” Sandor replied, as he went to fetch his discarded wand. “Apparently this one’s got some part to play yet.”

“Did the Red Woman tell you that?”

“No, some other fucker who knew her. Bet she just gave you some little riddle that didn’t help huh?” Sandor’s booming laugh echoed across the dimness.

“We thought she had the weapon that could kill the Night King. Apparently, she didn’t.”

“They were right about where I’d find this one. Maybe whatever she said may still help.”

Gendry hoped, _prayed_, that it would. He looked back at Theon and the same primal rage crept up his body again, roaring at him, begging to be released. To draw blood.

But the face that stared back at him slayed his wand. Theon looked as if he’s aged forty years with his brittle brown hair hanging limply, his pasty white skin covered in dirt and mud and the eyes…they watered, filling with tears at the sight of his old friend.

“Can you let him speak?”

Sandor waved his wand and Theon gasped for air as if he had been holding it in all this time. The fury that he thought had dissipated finally returned and Gendry took the last few steps towards Theon, grabbed the collar of his shirt and dug his wand on his left cheek.

“I don’t know what it is that you’re here for, Theon. But I hope, for your sake, that you don’t make the same mistake again.”

“I won’t,” Theon replied, his voice shaking as his tears started to fall, leaving dirt tracks across his cheek. “I came to fight for you, for Jon, and for Robb. If you’ll have me.”

Gendry let him go. “We need every help we can get.”

Then he turned away and gestured for Sandor to follow him back to the encampment.

**~**

When “Tyrion” tackled Davos in a hug, the old man had thought the wizarding realm may have indeed come to a rather strange end. The relief he felt when Arya’s face popped up when “Tyrion” pulled back was enough to have Arya laugh at him hysterically.

Davos, Arya and Meera convened at the Astronomy Tower where they all debriefed each other of everything that had happened in the past few months.

Even though it was close to Christmas, Winterfell was still overflowing with students whose parents believed that they were much safer under the school’s protection than in their own homes.

“It’s all propaganda, of course,” Meera told Arya. “The Night King wants as many if not all the students inside the school. For what reason, we don’t know.”

“Do their parents know they’re all here?”

“Yes,” Davos replied. “They were told that Winterfell is the safest place to be for their children. Maester knows that’s all a lie if what you told us about the Night King wanting to use this as his base is true.”

“They’re marching towards us now?” Meera asked. Arya nodded.

“We timed it right. Cersei’s been preparing the best guest room for that evil shit.”

Davos frowned. “I suppose Winterfell’s his best option if they’re rallied up north,” he said. “Not to mention the scared students who’d join his cause in exchange for their lives.”

“He’ll purge the school of all Muggle-borns and have the rest under his command,” Arya said. “He’s growing his army from the youngest up.”

“Not surprised there,” Meera said. “The younger they are, the easier they are to manipulate.”

“But I hear you’ve got quite some fighters on our side,” Arya said. Meera and Davos shared a smile.

“That we do,” Davos replied. “But they may not be enough.”

“We need every witch or wizard we can get.”

A few hours before Christmas Eve, Arya as Tyrion sat in with Cersei Lannister and her companions in the Headmistress' tower. Arya observed each of them, mentally noted their capabilities and figured that none of them proved to be of any real threat. Cersei was a decent duellist, but Arya knew she could take her on.

Cersei too easily dismissed Tyrion from her company without a word of explanation, much to Arya’s relief, and she went straight to the Room of Requirement. She was appalled by the hoarded items that were piled across every inch of space in the already gigantic room, but thanks to Davos, they found the Vanishing Cabinet quick enough.

With Cersei immobilised (Arya had far too much fun incapacitating the smug witch), the rest of the Brotherhood had taken full control of the castle. Brienne gave a gallant speech to the students, asking nothing of them but their bravery to fight alongside them if they so wished, but none were forced to stay. More than half of the students left.

Arya waited for Gendry by the back entrance of the castle and was beyond surprised to find Sandor and a bound-up Theon Greyjoy walking beside him.

“I’ll explain later,” he told her after planting a kiss on her forehead.

Davos and the rest of the teachers began to fortify the school, enveloping the entire castle with protective charms and spells from the onslaught of a magical attack. Brienne paired up those who came to fight along the walls and on every exit and entrance. Catelyn and Sansa were to stay with the students inside the main hall to fight only when it was breached.

Sandor had already sent his patronus to warn Tormund and his group to come to Winterfell, and Jon…Arya hoped that he got her message as well.

**~**

Gendry found Arya up in the Astronomy Tower. Her complexion bathed in the moonlight. She looked peaceful, unworried even, despite the dread of knowing that the Night King was marching towards them with every tick of the clock.

They were stationed up there for its vantage point. They would be the first to see their enemy’s approach. This is where they’d make their last stand. Where perhaps he would meet his end, alongside the person he loved the most.

The brilliant, beautiful witch that was Arya Stark. Someone who believed in him, accepted him and loved him for who and what he was.

There would be no one else like her. No one he could ever love more than her.

Gendry wrapped his arm around Arya, letting her lean on him as he breathed her in and committed her warmth, her face, her feel against him to memory.

“I’m sorry about Theon,” she said, breaking the silence. “I gave him a good right punch on the nose, so I hope that appeases you a bit.”

Gendry let out a low laugh.

“A lot, actually.”

They could see the tiny dots of people down by the courtyard, their voices were carried up and around them by the biting Northern zephyr. No one else would come. No one else could help them now. They were all alone; a meagre number against hundreds of others who wanted to destroy them and the future they represented for the realm.

Gendry gently grabbed her arms and leaned forward to her eye-level so he could look at her straight in her mesmerising, grey eyes and said, “I love you.”

Sorrow filled her beautiful face. “No matter what happens tonight, I want you to know that I will always, always love you.”

“Gendry…”

He took both her hands in his and lifted them up to his lips. Then he kneeled down on one knee and pressed his head gently against her still-flat stomach.

And just before Arya could say the same words to him, Arya saw them from afar.

They were finally here.

**~**

It was a bloodbath. The chaos that ensued were anything but what they anticipated. The protective spells helped for a bit, allowing them time to cast their own from behind the castle walls and immobilise a few.

But the Night King was powerful. With his dark magic, he unleashed a spell so strong that the ground shook underneath their feet and the protective shell that covered the castle shattered as if it were mere glass.

Brienne rallied everyone to her from below while Arya and Gendry handled those who came from above.

No one had to time to recover, to regain even a fraction of their strength as they duelled and battled against the unstoppable force.

The dark and foul creatures swooped in from above and the White Walkers came with their stronger, more powerful magic.

Gendry duelled one, keeping focus as he saw Arya duel two in his peripheral. He heard a loud crack and knew something was amiss. With a flick of a wrist, he immobilised his opponent and immediately turned around to help Arya only to watch, helplessly, as she lost her balance against the side of the railing and the White Walker, a sneer on his evil face, pushed her over the edge and towards the cold, hard ground.

**~**

Arya was dead.

Her body, perfectly still and lifeless, laid on the cold stone floor of the courtyard with her hand rested on her stomach.

Gendry’s hands shook by his side and his knees faltered the moment he came by her side. It wasn’t real. It couldn’t be. Yet there was nothing unmistakable about her features. About the soft light on her face, the blood running down the opened gash on her forehead and her wand, grasped weakly on her other hand.

He wanted to scream, wanted to yell; anything to make him wake up from this nightmare.

He gritted his teeth, his eyes not leaving her face as he tried to desperately hold back the tears that threatened to fall. Of the grief that didn’t warrant this nightmare.

There were strange sounds, something distinctly like the screech of a dragon, but it sounded so warbled and far away that he thought it might have come from under water.

“Gendry!”

He knew that voice. He’s heard it before. But he couldn’t tear his eyes away from Arya’s body. From her lifeless, unblinking eyes.

“Gendry!”

A hand grasped him by his collar and shoved him aside so roughly that he felt his shoulders throb on impact.

He looked back and watched as Arya’s body disappeared, replaced by a foul Other whose black, shredded cloak billowed behind it as it went for its attacker.

“Riddikulus!” The owner of the hand uttered, and the boggart turned into a large white balloon that exhaled its air as it flew in and around them before vanishing beyond the courtyard.

A panting Jon made his way to Gendry and lifted him up by the hand.

“Are you alright?” Jon asked.

Gendry was still breathing hard, unable to keep the image from his head. When he finally got his bearings, he was surprised to see the face of his friend. “Jon? How did you- “

“I’m here with Daenerys,” Jon replied, patting him on the shoulders. “I guess the Night King’s followers have a healthy fear of dragons after all.”

Gendry’s eyes narrowed in confusion, but he didn’t have time to ask anymore.

“Now come on,” Jon said. “They need us up there.”

Gendry looked back at the cold stone floor to make sure that Arya’s body really hadn’t been there just then and with a swallow, he followed Jon out of the courtyard as fast as his legs could take him.

**~**

Arya wiped the blood off her face as she ran to catch up with the Red Woman. How she got inside the castle or how she knew where to lead her, Arya didn’t care. If it hadn’t been for her, Arya would’ve probably plummeted directly down the courtyard and to her death. She saw her get pushed over the railing and had the presence of mind to cast a spell that slowed the velocity of her falling.

When she helped her up, Arya could’ve hugged her in pure gratefulness. But the Red Woman had other plans as she motioned for Arya to follow her immediately.

If the help that she was talking about to defeat the Night King was here, then she’d do whatever it was that she asked.

The Red Woman led her through the winding corridors of the castle with Arya fighting off some White Walkers along the way. Then she stopped abruptly in front of a stone wall and turned to a panting Arya.

“Help will always be given at Winterfell to those who ask for it,” she told Arya. Then she gestured to the wall and then to Arya’s wand.

“Sometimes it is there, and sometimes it is not, but when it appears, it is always equipped for the seeker's needs.”

Arya frowned, ready to lash out at her but then she remembered.

“You want me to open the Room of Requirement?”

The Red Woman stood beside Arya and leaned down to her eye level as they both stared at the blank wall.

“You must be clear. Picture it in your head and decide what you will do when you receive it.”

Arya didn’t understand enough to respond in words but deep within her, she knew what the witch meant.

“Help will always be given at Winterfell to those who ask for it,” she repeated. Then she closed her eyes and breathed out slowly. She thought about Gendry and their unborn child. About the life that grew within her and the lives that everybody in Winterfell was fighting for.

The Red Woman stepped back and the door to the room materialised.

When Arya opened it, it revealed only a small cupboard and within it lay the very thing that could destroy the evil once and for all.

The Valyrian Wand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I thought I could finish this in two chapters but alas, my past self was far too ambitious for her own good.
> 
> I hope you all enjoyed this one and I do apologise for that particular bit in here that probably stopped your heart as much as it did mine...I promise I'm not THAT mean ;D
> 
> Can't wait to hear/read your thoughts on this one and this I will say for certain: the next chapter will definitely be the final chapter and that it will also not take as long as this did (ILY ALL) <3
> 
> Thank you all for reading and excited to hear what you all think!
> 
> Edit: And thank you all for your comments on the last chapter/s. They are far too kind and sweet and truly, I appreciate every single one of them. They seriously do help me write even better for you all. So. Much. Love.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologise for the super late update but I hope you all enjoy!

Just before Arya turned eleven years old and received her letter that she’s been accepted to the Winterfell School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, she had already been quite an astute student of the arts and history of magic.

Growing up with a Headmaster for a father, a prefect for a brother and an outstanding wizard of a cousin, it was very much expected that Arya turned out to be completely enamoured by all things to do with magic.

She burned candles after candles poring over books, textbooks, photographs and drawings of all things to do with the history of magic. In particular, she had quite a fascination for the powerful wizarding family known as the Targaryens who were said to be of the purest magical blood in all the Seven Realms of Westeros, Essos and beyond.

Having quite a grasp of her metamorphmagus abilities at such a young age, Arya would reference old photographs and would morph herself into Targaryen witches and wizards – her favourite being Visenya Targaryen. Though it gave her mother quite a headache and the servants in their manor a right big scare, it never stopped the young girl from playing around with her ‘borrowed’ wands or, if reprimanded, a stick she fashioned to look like one.

Arya devoured every book she could find on the Targaryens and often hoped that she could one day see the great dragons they prided themselves in both taming and riding. Her uncle Benjen, who lived up North near the Frostfang mountains, once sent her a small piece of a hatched dragon egg from a family of frozen dragons that had been hunted down till their extinction. She kept it in her person hoping to one day catch a glimpse a real live one.

Now, seeing Daenerys Targaryen, the last Targaryen witch, in person riding an actual dragon alongside Jon, who happened to be half-Targaryen himself, was perhaps too much for the young Auror to comprehend.

Winterfell continued to stand its ground against the onslaught of attacks from the Night King from the ground but with Jon’s coming with Daenerys and her dragons and the loyal witches and wizards who fought for her from Essos, Arya believed that they could actually win this fight.

With a renewed vigour and strength that she found as she watched the fiery display of power from the dragons that soared above, she clutched the Valyrian wand by her person and went off to find the Night King and end him for good.

**~**

Jon left Gendry with Tormund up on the battlements. Gendry caught a glimpse of Arya, alive and fighting, dashing towards the entrance of the castle before disappearing in the great hall with the Red Woman. He didn’t know how the Red Witch managed to get inside the castle, but he hoped that her appearance meant that she would be helping them win this fight against the Night King.

With a sweat on his brow and his wand arm lowering every hour that chimed, Gendry kept thinking about Arya and the child that grew inside her womb.

And every flick of his wand and every spell enchantment that he uttered aloud, he let his love for Arya and their unborn child strengthen him and keep him in focus. Their enemy may be strong, but they had something actually worth fighting for.

“Movement in the godswood!” Tormund shouted to him above the pandemonium.

Gendry glanced over his shoulder and saw the Mountain and his snarling werewolf pack make their way to the godswood with Theon right on their heels.

“We have to go and help him!” Gendry shouted back. Tormund held off a White Walker and with a loud roar, blasted him over the wall with a counter curse.

“Go!”

They apparated just as chaos ensued under the immobilised Whomping Weirwood tree.

Theon still looked gaunt and sickly, but his offence attacks were sure and true. Gendry caught his eyes and with a nod of acknowledgement between them, Gendry thought that perhaps he could forgive his old friend after all.

The Mountain and his men were ravenous, lusting for the blood of those who had wronged them. If they survived this, Gendry would put all his efforts in making certain that the likes of the Mountain would never surface ever again.

Arya gave him enough reason to believe that every witch or wizard cursed with lycanthropy could have a normal life. A life where they did not simply survive, but they thrived. A life where they could be loved and given a chance at really living.

But first, he had to get rid of this one.

**~**

Arya left the Red Woman inside the great hall but before she could exit the castle, she heard a loud snarl coming from the hall of portraits and immediately knew that whatever made it was not on their side.

Sansa, her mother, Meera and Davos stood on a staircase each, their wands pointed at a monstrous three-headed beast that growled at them at the foot of the lowest steps.

“Maester’s beard,” Arya said as she beheld the great snarling creature. She remembered reading about them in one of their school textbooks and recalled that these vicious beasts were illegally bred by the pure-blooded Boltons. Arya knew that this particular one belonged to Ramsay Bolton, a notorious White Walker and Gendry’s previous classmate.

“He called them _Bastard’s Girls_,” Gendry had told her. “Bragged about it a lot at school. Nasty things – they’re trained to sniff out muggles and half-bloods. He used to threaten to let it loose on me and Jon once they’re fully grown. Thank the maester he never had the chance to.”

Arya apparated beside Sansa, too busy to look at her as she, along with Davos, Meera and Catelyn, strained to put the beast down. Arya brandished the Valyrian wand and for some reason, it felt right in her hands as she pointed it towards the beast and uttered the same incantation as the rest of them.

Arya felt the power of the wand in every part of her body as the unleashed spell not only had the creature in a bind, but it also shrunk it into a smaller, tamer version of itself. All four of them looked at the beast and then at Arya with shocked expressions at what she had just done.

“Wow,” Sansa said as she finally locked eyes with her sister. Arya looked at the wand in similar disbelief.

“That’s an understatement,” she said.

“Is that what I think it is?” Sansa pointed at the wand Arya had in her hand.

Arya nodded. “It was here all along,” she replied excitedly. “The Red Witch came and showed me how to get it.”

“Are you going to kill him with it?”

“Yes.”

Sansa enveloped Arya in her arms and only let go when she felt Arya squirm.

“Go and get him then,” Sansa said. Arya winked at her and bolted straight out the front entrance.

**~**

Blood dripped down Gendry’s forehead. Theon loosed an exploding charm against the Mountain and the debris caught everyone within its proximity. Sandor apparated just in time to fight off his brother while Gendry duelled with his other minions easily enough. Tormund and Theon held their ground near him.

“This is the end for you, big brother,” Gendry heard Sandor say. And soon, the ground shook with the intensity of their duel.

Like in the battle at the Stoney Sept, the brothers resorted to disapparating in a cloud of black and white smoke and apparating somewhere else to continue their fight. The last place that Gendry glimpsed them was at the staircase in one of Winterfell’s towers, visible because of the gaping hole at its centre, caused by the fighting going on.

Gendry, Tormund and Theon were tiring but even with the dragons above and the reinforcements, the Night King’s army continued to pour in from all directions.

The godswood soon cleared and just when they thought they had a breather, a terrible chill permeated the air. They turned towards the entrance to the godswood and Gendry finally saw him.

The Night King.

**~**

Arya saw the Night King slowly approach Gendry, Tormund and Theon from atop the wall that overlooked the godswood. All three had their wands pointed at him and she could faintly hear Tormund egg the evil wizard on.

“Shut up, you idiot,” she whispered. The Night King’s most vicious officers stood behind him, smirking at the outnumbered three, but none had their wands out. If she were to get to the Night King, she had to get rid of them first.

Daenerys and Jon continued their flight above them, taking care of the other dark creatures and followers that wreaked havoc in and around the castle.

Arya was about to unleash hell despite their being outnumbered when Davos, Brienne, Pod and Meera apparated beside the other three and a fight quickly ensued. Arya couldn’t see them clearly with all the spells and sparks and light strewn about until a menacing green light flashed brightly above the other lights and she heard Gendry’s voice cut through all the commotion.

Arya watched as Theon violently pushed Gendry to the ground only for his body to take the full blast of the Night King’s killing curse.

Arya gasped as the curse’s impact had Theon’s lifeless body unceremoniously thrown across the other side of the field. When the Night King lifted his wand and pointed it at Gendry, Arya did not think, did not care, as she leaped from where she stood, apparated in front of her husband and shutting the sound of his voice screaming her name in fear, she lifted the Valyrian wand and countered the Night King’s attack.

**~**

Sparks of red and green flew all around them as Arya and the Night King’s wand connected. Sweat poured down Arya’s brow despite the cold. The Night King looked to be struggling from his end too, but neither of them yielded.

Arya thought about all she’s read on this ancient evil that stood before them. The Night King was believed to be a legend, a myth created by the first magical humans who had inhabited Westeros known as The First Men. The lore told of the Night King as once being a wizard of a pure-blooded family who began the first genocide of all half-blooded and muggle wizards and witches many hundreds of years ago.

It was said that this family’s hatred for all who weren’t of pure blood was so great that they created this evil creature in the hopes of eliminating everyone who did not share their purity nor pledged their allegiance to them. His ascendency depended on who could awaken him for that very purpose. Summoning him required great magical power and it was only through the combined powers of the Lannisters, Boltons and Freys did it finally happen.

His threat to wizardkind was vast. Terrible. And she couldn’t let him win. Not now, not ever. Especially not when she carried her and Gendry’s child within her. Not when she had every reason to live.

Arya grunted, her eyes watering at the effort. Holding the Valyrian wand with both hands and with determined eyes, she willed her entire body, mind, spirit and strength into the wand; to let it be part of her arm, as she cried out and summoned the full strength of the wand, of Winterfell, of her family, of Gendry, and of every witch and wizard who had died resisting the powers of evil and injustice, and unleashed it against the Night King.

**~**

Arya saved them all.

The Night King evaporated in a whirl of blue and black as Arya’s spell overpowered his. There was a moment of complete stillness after she had done so. Only the roar of the dragons could be heard amidst the ringing silence.

Gendry ran to Arya immediately, clutching her to him as she fell on his chest exhausted.

The battle was finally over. They had won.

His followers soon surrendered or disappeared. The remaining resistance fighters scattered in and around Winterfell all released a breath of pure relief.

It was over.

It was finally over.

**~**

** _Eight months after the Battle of Winterfell_ **

In the soft spring months, the Seven Wizarding Realms of Westeros rebuilt itself. After the events of what became known as the Second Wizarding War, Daenerys Targaryen became Minister of Magic in the interim while Jon stood as the Advisor to the Minister alongside Davos in an administrative secretarial position and Brienne as Head Auror. Together, they led a huge reform to the Ministry in order to weed out both corruption and prejudice within their ranks.

The remaining Lannisters, Freys, Boltons and those who had pledged their allegiance to the Night King were apprehended and tried for their crimes against the wizarding community. The revitalisation and reform also included the eradication of the pro-pure-blood laws in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement of which Sansa had been appointed as Head.

Sandor Clegane and Gendry were also awarded the Order of the Maester, First Class with the former posthumously, for their actions during the Battle of Winterfell as well as their unwavering loyalty to the Brotherhood Without Banners. Gendry was the first werewolf ever to be accorded the honour.

Arya smiled at the thought of the realm finally being at peace after so many years under corrupt and unjust leadership. It was about time, really, and even if her father, who had fought so hard against such injustice had now passed on, she was glad that his efforts hadn’t been in vain at all.

With summer just about finished, afternoons in the Stormlands were still quite warm. Arya sat comfortably on their outdoor couch on the porch of Storm Cottage with her feet propped up on an ottoman as she watched Gendry frolic around on the beach.

Gendry carried their little boy in his arms; his floppy white baby sunhat secured on his tiny head. Sometimes Gendry would lift him up and twirl him about as he laughed and cooed, or he’d cradle him on his naked chest as he walked about on the sand.

Little Eddard was a happy, healthy little boy whom, fortunately for both parents, was a metamorphmagus just like his mother. Gendry had been so frightened at the thought of his son becoming a werewolf that it didn’t occur to him that he could have his mother’s abilities instead.

The relief on both parents were added with much joy as they watched their son sometimes change the colour of his eyes and hair depending on his mood just like Arya did as Gendry fondly observed.

He strode back to where Arya sat but not before lifting the giggling boy up and blowing raspberries on his chubby, red cheeks.

“Hello baby,” Arya cooed when Gendry came up the steps with a huge smile plastered on his face. Little Eddard stretched his short arms out towards his mother who picked him up and bounced him on her lap.

Gendry ran a hand through his sweat-soaked hair and stole a kiss from Arya before settling down next to her. Weasel the house elf apparated beside him and poured both of them a glass of cooled lemonade.

“Any chance I could persuade you and Edd to join me tomorrow to Kings Landing?” Gendry asked, mesmerised by the bouncing baby on his wife’s lap.

“Not a chance,” Arya replied as she laughed and made faces at their son.

“I promise we won’t stay long,” Gendry pleaded, leaning in to kiss Arya’s shoulder. Little Eddard grasped Gendry’s finger in his tiny hand as he bounced away, his bright blue eyes, that of his father’s, looking at both of them in glee. “And Jon’s been begging to see his nephew for weeks now.”

“Jon’s coming with you afterwards, Gendry,” Arya reminded him. “And since you aren’t staying long, then we don’t need to go.”

“I know,” Gendry replied. “But I hate not being with you two.”

“It’s only two days.”

“It’s still two days too long.”

Tomorrow, Gendry would leave for Kings Landing to be briefed on the upcoming Ministerial procedure regarding the amending of the current werewolf protection legislation. Since Edd’s birth three months ago, Gendry hadn’t left his wife and son’s side, opting to spend all the time he could with them in their new home in Storm Cottage.

Arya had deferred the offer of Head Auror until at least a year after Edd’s birth and Brienne took on the mantle of leadership in her stead. Arya thought she was much more qualified for the position anyway. Besides, Arya much preferred the excitement of being on the field as a regular Auror as opposed to staying in the office doing administerial duties. She hadn’t the knack for the politics behind such an important role.

“Promise you won’t teach him how to walk yet,” Gendry said. Arya laughed at her husband’s silliness.

“I know you and I are little more skilled in magic than most wizards but that doesn’t mean our kid’s some super-magic being that could walk at just three months, Gendry.”

“You never know,” he replied with a laugh.

Arya stopped bouncing the little boy just as Weasel apparated at the right moment with his bottle of warm milk. Arya popped his little sunhat off and reclined him on her arms as he drank the milk greedily.

Gendry shuffled even closer to Arya and wound an arm on the back of the couch, and they watched, mesmerised, that this little bundle of pure love was all theirs.

Next week was going to be a full moon but Gendry, with the two people whom he loved the most beside him, in a realm that now welcomed and made every effort to make the lives of lycanthropes like him easier and better, was beyond grateful that he had this life after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What a journey this has been! Thank you all so so so much from the bottom of my heart for liking, commenting, subscribing and just generally reading this fic. Remadora!Gendrya AU really is one of the best things to come out of this fandom and I truly cannot thank you all enough for allowing me to tell this story in this way.
> 
> I hope you all enjoyed it and this conclusion - it was always going to be a happy one for our duo and they deserved to live and watch little Eddy grow up (and have more babies in the future, of course) ;D
> 
> Special shoutout to mayb and swetz (your words always bring me so much joy and encouragement to continue writing). But of course, to EVERY SINGLE ONE of you gendrya fam, love you all to bits!
> 
> Don't hesitate to visit me on tumblr (same name) and ask me for some prompts about these two, I'd be more than happy to write little domestic remadora!gendrya au things because ugh who wouldn't want to!
> 
> Anyway, let's keep celebrating Gendry and Arya because they own our clown selves always and 4ever <3
> 
> Edit: I made a twitter (same name) thread of things I didn’t mention on this chapter i.e. rickon, bran, etc. as I wanted to keep these chapters more gendrya-centred


End file.
